


All For the Bargaining

by MagicAndMechanics (DoctorHex)



Category: Doctor Strange - Fandom, Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, comics - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, M/M, Marvel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorHex/pseuds/MagicAndMechanics
Summary: Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?





	1. The Darkness Approaches

**Author's Note:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

**♫ I'm slipping into the deep end**  
**I'm in over my head**  
**I can't catch my breath**  
**I'm slipping into the deep end**  
**Feel the current within**  
**I can't help but give in ♫**

 

A new day had dawned so quietly. With it came the dark skies, the cold chill and the bitter rain. Almost the a perfect cliche setting to a movie of that at a funeral which indeed was the case. As the weather mourned, a reflection to those who stood in the quiet graveyard, a small group were saying their last goodbyes to a dear loved one. Rain kissed the casket and umbrellas as it was lowered, the loud thud as dirt clumps were thrown, and the somber sobs to prove that he would be very much missed. Mascara tears and clutching hands, depression and woeful regrets. The scene was a true optimistic nightmare.

The whispers that hung on tongues “Gone too young”, “Such a sweet, beautiful man”. All this for a twenty five year old who was involved in a freak accident. On a night, much like the weather of today, be took a corner to wide and hit an embankment. Daniel Jackson left behind a girlfriend who secretly fancied her neighbour and cared for a dying dog. He also left behind a sister who had gambled herself into debt and who he was helping pay it off. Parents who lived overseas and never traveled. And also leaving behind his partner at his job. Already the suicidal thoughts stirred. Lips pressed tight to avoid praying out loud.

Standing a short distance away stood a tall man. Decked in black like everyone else, he sheltered under one of the many big oaks, watching the display of grief. It was a scene he’d seen more than he had ever wanted to and yet, every death called him here. What a grim reality to be held, but not when that was your job. As the ground finally let, leaving the covered grave and muddy prints, he could finally come out of hiding. Black gloves tightened the red and gold scarf around him, cutting off the increasing chill as he walked towards the fresh mound of dirt. Now he wasn’t a grave robber, wasn’t a friend of this man, in fact his purpose held more of an importance.

Black boots splashing and slipping in the slippery mud, he let out a small sigh before making his stop in front of the headstone. It was never truely easy for him which is exactly why he always had to know about the person who had lost their life. It was a peace of mind for him, if not anything else. A black glove slightly rested on the gravestone as if it was his signal for the dead to show themselves.

“Was a sunny funeral too much to ask?” Came a soft voice beside him. “I mean this is **my** day.”

A knot tightened in the man’s stomach as he stopped and turned to look beside him. Standing next to the mound of dirt was indeed Daniel, looking very much alive and human or so it was too be believed. However he stood in the clothes he’d been buried in, an outline of gold to his statue. Not at all man, but very much a spirit, a soul.

“Things never do turn out the way we want” the man spoke bluntly, looking at his shoes. “That would make winning life so much easier.”

“You just brighten the day huh?” Daniel spoke with a grin. He was indeed a known joker, but the man was far from finding humor in anything today.

The spirit however softly placed a hand on the man’s wet shoulder. Even through the semi-warm hand was firmly on his shoulder, the chill that the dead brought with them was felt deeper than any burn could go, resulting in him to cringe. So many times he’d felt it, so many times it remained to leave him stunned for a few seconds.

“Now’s not the time,” the man said, desperately wanting to return home to bed. “Now you go off and get some rest literally, before its too late”.

Having a chat with the dead was not on his list of things to do that day. His white temples were now turning as black his hair as rain soaked his face and lashes, slowly seeping through his layers of clothes. His head was aching in extreme lack of sleep and for what his job entitled, he could not afford exhaustion. You see he held a block like magic in his mind, a block he needed desperately to hold onto. Invisible energy that protected his mind, his soul, from things near unimaginable…

“That was a really depressing pun, even for you dude” Daniel said, following him along at a slow pace.

The rain seemed to not even touch the spirit, yet he himself could feel these beings. A blessing or a complete curse? That depended what mood he was in. Why couldn’t this guy just want to pass over now? And then the portal of light would appear to set him and his soul to peace. It really did sound beautiful. However being a Soul Guider, nothing much was at all beautiful in this job.

“I really have to go, you must understand” the man strained. The longer he stood here, the more tired he became, the growing chance that his own life became endangered.

Once the dead crossed over he could not see them. Maybe it was for the better in some cruel way, but death always brought a somber mood to him. Having to send children’s soul’s on brought the worst of it.

The man bit his lip as he felt an energy in the air. A warm portal of yellow light in the shape and size of an orb hovered between them, making his skin feel prickly. He knew he should have passed over in such a thing at a time, but fate was cruel and horrid. Instead he was here, doing this horrible job.

He saw the spirit swallow and hesitantly stare at the orb which called to him. It beckoned him with every glow, with every pulse. How much beauty it held.

“That was fast” the man said knowing sometimes these orbs couldn’t appear for years “You just need to put your hand into it and you can finally be in paradise that a living mind can not comprehend.”

The man softly began to speak as the spirit walked over to the orb. Words of spell, words of prayer, all familiar came to his lips. The nervous spirit stretched out his hand and put it into the orb. A shot of white light opened up into a portal and he disappeared inside. With that being down the man wondered over to the light which had returned back to its orb form. He sighed and whispered a few words before blowing on it. It burst into glitter like particles and disappeared. All that had transpired had been invisible to the naked eye.

Tired and beyond exhausted the man collapsed onto the ground, mud splattering him completely. He knew he shouldn’t have come here in this state. No sleep, not eating, he’d done this to himself. His head throbbed like a pounding hammer as he felt the air become colder. He’d lost it. The block on his mind was completely gone.

“No…” He whispered to himself, his hand gripping desperately onto the soggy ground. “Let me be dammit!”

As the air around him grew colder, even the light itself seeming to darken, living shadows seeped towards him. Like silks of smoke and mist they surrounded him, swirling in waves. The man could feel the air around him grow thicker, tighter.

“Vishanti, don’t let them take me please…”

He knew his own prayers would not be heard, if they ever were when it came to him. He swallowed back the bile he felt rise in his throat. This was so very bad. With no block in his mind keeping him safe from the darkness, he was now fully gazing into the dead. So many shadows, human figures with no faces, wispy tendrils flowing, slowly moving towards him as he pushed himself backwards across the grass. He had to get out of here before it was too late.

The black shadows blocked his path, surrounding him like their prey. The man felt terrified and helpless. Right now, not even his own magic could help him. The shadows could do more damage on him then the actual dead. The joys to being half alive. The shadows silky chill slipped across him. Even dressed up to the nines, the deadly chill slipped through to his skin sending a nasty shiver. With one swift slap a tendril made contact with the man’s face, sending him flat into the muddy ground.

The creatures themselves not only weakened him more in his exhausting state, but themselves seemed to absorb what life lay in him. If only he could get the block in his mind back up. Maybe he could…

Pain now numbed the side of his face, a red cut exposed to the world. If he wasn’t so tired he could fight this easily. He could actually do something. As if the sight of blood and weakness sent the creatures into overdrive they rushed at him. Doing his best to thrash and kick, his best effort was to scream as loud as he could. The screams of terror suddenly turned to screams of agony. They were stronger and wilder than he’d ever remembered, then maybe he was weaker than he’d ever been. The creatures were now wrapping around his limbs, trying desperately to pull him out of his curled up position. Thin strips of the tendrils broke off and wisped in the air before rounding them self around the man’s neck.

“NOOOO” the man screamed in alarm. “HELP PLEASE. HELP ME!”.

But he knew nobody could help him. Nobody would see this. They had dragged him further into the world of the dead and as far as nature was concerned right now, he was not part of the living.

The black strips of tendrils began to tighten their place on the man’s neck, using the scarf as even more of a tool. In all it brought a horrible cold to his throat, the tendrils cutting through the fabric and into his neck. They would finish what death hadn’t done so long ago. Death always cam back for you.

_No, their not going to kill me._

He tugged roughly at the silky shadows cutting off his oxygen, but his grip seemed to slip at every touch.

“Stephen Strange…” Can a horrible voice out of nowhere, that sent fear and coldness into the pit of the man’s stomach. “What a pathetic mortal state you have gotten yourself into…”

This made the man completely freeze in his struggling. The voice was demented and vile. The voice of his nightmares, the voice of his regrets. At once he could almost feel the cracks in his shattered soul cut deeper.

“Care to try another bargain?”

“TOOOOONY” Came a massive scream from the distressed man. That scream was his last hope, hopefully the breath he had not wasted. Maybe a saviour.

The dark shadows slipped down with a weight of solid bodies and wrapped around his wrists tightening, digging, burning him with pain as they pulled his wrists down to his sides. The spirits now completely surrounded him, tearing at every part of him they could grab now. A bitter cold smoky taste forced its way into his mouth like slime down his throat. They were no way going to let him live. He gagged and choked, fingers trembling and struggling to break free.

Once you got over the agony of death he knew it would come as something sweet and pleasant, but for now he was set to suffer. He forced his tear-filled eyes open, gasping strangled as a cold darkness was pushing his vision further into a black abyss. With one last strained cry, the darkness finally took him under its wing.


	2. Your Own Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

**♫ Seven devils all around you**

**Seven devils in my house**

**See they were there when I woke up this morning**

**I'll be dead before the day is done ♫**

 

A loud ringing was in his ears, his own moans of delusion and agony filling his head. Somehow through it as if far away, he could hear a voice echoing in his ears. The panicking voice was calling to him through the darkness in near urgency, but everything was so black and warm. Could he fight to grip onto that voice? It was calling his name in repeat. A threat? A saviour? Something was tugging at him to retch out for him, hold onto it so damn tightly. He couldn’t give up, he couldn’t let death be his escape no matter how tired he was. As the voice loomed closer he began to recognise it. Just hearing that familiar voice, nothing seemed more important then fighting to get to it. He’d never been so glad to hear him.

“Stephen, come on! YOU are stronger then this!”

With a massive jolt he was suddenly back in his body again and gasping for air, as if his soul really had been ripped out of him. Blue eyes huge and distressed as he looked around trying to gather his senses. He realised he was lying in the backseat of a car, body lathered in mud and a cold sweat. His clothes were near shredded. Leaning in front of him with terrified blue eyes was the man who had so been calling to him. The man himself harvesting a yellow glow around his boy. His faithful spirit, his ghost, among a few other things…

“STEPHEN!” the man gasped in relief, collapsing on him in a vice like hug. “Welcome back you. I seriously thought they had got you”.

The cold chill froze Stephen all over as he lay there stunned. The only cold touch he was used to, but still cold never the less. The man didn’t seem to care, mud and damp clothes ruining his own. In any other mood Stephen would have slowly pushed him away, but after that assault the familiar man was keeping the panic in him at bay. As if realising the young man sat in the gap between both seats where he had a first aid kit present.

A deep pulse erupted in Stephen’s head like a thundering beat. For a brief second he’d thought a hammer as big as Thor’s had started to bash against his skull. He groaned and grasped his head, eyes blurring and watering. This was the next fun bit. The joy of a life between life and death. His mortal body was put through certain extremes it struggled to handle, struggled to accept. Through this Stephen would go through agonising moments like this. Only when events like this occurred. This was why the magical block in his mind had to remain always in affect.

“Oh God it hurts so much.” Stephen hissed through gritted teeth, hands pressed to his head. “It’s pure murder Tony…”

“You do have the painkillers…” Tony mused as his gaze shifted to the first aid kit. “But you know that will barely even settle your vision…”

“Don’t care, give them to me dammit!” Stephen’s hiss was harsh and cold, however it was a voice the spirit had heard more than once.

While Tony ravaged through the kit, grabbing the bottle of water close to him, Stephen tried to focus on the next painful task. His trembling hands began to glow a simple golden, tears streaming down his eyes. Conjuring up this much magic in an agonising, weak state was its own struggle as while as trying to speak the correct spell. But this was reality, getting the block up in his mind again was serious. They would be back and Stephen could swear he could sense them outside, waiting so patiently for a opportunity to finish the job.

Snatching the painkillers and water from the spirit once the spell was finished, he struggled desperately not to be violently ill.

_Oh please end. I’m begging you..._

Stephen’s eyes were a mixture of black and blue now as his own personal struggle continued. Biting down on his tongue only resulted in the warm taste of blood in his mouth. Painkillers would barely enough touch the pain, but maybe it would be the touch he needed. He curled up on the backseat and closed his eyes tightly, pained sounds filling the dragging silence. It wasn’t the worse pain he’d been in, but it was at least in the top five. Like sweating out a fever all he could do was ride it out.

It wasn’t too long before Stephen felt the cold arm slip around him and pull him into a cold, but somehow pleasant grasp. Stephen forced one blurred eye open and looked towards the spirit. Tony’s grasp around him was the tightest it could be. How a smearing cold could bring some warmth to the weakened man was still a mystery.

“You’ll get through this Stephen. You always do. Why do you think you’re still around? They know you can do this. Sure you weren’t trained, but you’re already lived through more then they have.”

Not a one for affection, not a one to even show his emotions, it was only at his lowest and hurt times the truely scared man seemed to appear. However his own shaking hand wrapped around the other man and held him the closet he could, wishing the waves of pain would just cease once and for all. Face buried into his chest, slight sobs were heard. A sight nobody else would ever see, a sight he’d never let anybody else see. Nobody, but the dead man that held him in his arms.

_Had all this been worth it?_

Time seemed to slip by as they sat there in complete silence, the pouring rain washing down on the car. Eventually the pain had seemed to pass whether by luck or for the fact Stephen have eventually passed out in pain. Whichever it was the man was finally getting the rest he’d needed, the rest he’d been missing out on for days. Stress, pressure and guilt.

For Stephen housed secrets he wasn’t too exactly happy with and only recently those secrets had to come to the service. And when everything about you was a secret well, that wasn’t so fun.

The man finally began to come around. He gave a yawn, a numbing pain still infecting his body. At least it was a pain he could easily fight this time. Sitting up he looked outside, eyes gazing towards the setting sun. That was a sign to get the hell out of here. Really he had no plans to spend all night in a graveyard. He had to want to see the restless hours where souls that hadn’t crossed over roamed.

“Ever spent a night in a graveyard Stephen?” Tony asked as if it was the most causal thing. Had he actually slept? Not that he needed.

“I would rather not. We are not children daring each other on stupid things.” Some old habits died hard and with Strange blunt, emotionless and straight to the point was his factor.

“Okay, back to Mister Super Serious.” The spirit rolled his eyes, wavering a hand around. “One would ask how do I spend 1 minute with you let alone 1 year. Yes Tony, poor you.”

As always Stephen ignored the ramblings of the other, pulling off the drenched, muddy trenchcoat and throwing it on the floor. Part of him was hugely tempted to throw it at him. “Please, stay in the backseat. I don’t need you sidetracking me in the passenger-side.”

“You’re such a romantic, this is what I truely do adore about you my little Facial Hair Bro…” Tony continued to ramble regardless of Stephen’s “Please don’t say that again” murmur as he spoke. “Who would have thought it was you of all people that were like ‘Mister Stark, you do look quite dashing in that suit’.”

“Pretty sure that was you actually.” Stephen grumbled as he climbed into the front seat. “And for that matter do not speak any remark about my behind or YOUR behind will be out of this damn car.”

With a huff he fell into the front seat, only partly listening to the rambling spirit. He could go on like this for hours without actually repeating himself. In some way it was slightly impressive, in others not so much, but honestly that is where it got complicated. No matter how much the spirit annoyed him, harassed him he hated to admit how deeply in love with him he was.

_And that’s why you did the unspeakable wasn’t it Stephen?_

He shook himself from his thoughts and turned on the car, gripping the steering wheel hard with shaky hands. He took a few short breaths of composure, even ignoring when the A/C was turned on by a wondering hand.

_Home. Sleep. Don’t think about anything._


	3. Everyone Needs An Origin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

****♫** Sweet dreams are made of this**

**Who am I to disagree?**

**I travel the world**

**And the seven seas,**

**Everybody's looking for something **♫****

 

_ **Sin 1: The Unchosen** _

**{The Past}**

Your typical Saturday night was in full swing. Every night club in the whole of New York was packed to the brims with carefree teenagers and young adults enjoying the moment. The flashing lights of colours in strobes, the remixes of popular pop songs despised by elders, the sweaty bodies working up the dance-floor. Yes, Saturday night was a night to live. Yet when fun lay on the streets, the hospitals were still at work. Party goers intoxicated leading to accidents, injuries, assaults and you name it all. Fun brought the completely irresponsible. That could not be avoided.

This night Doctor Stephen Strange was working. Usually his Saturday nights were involved at some fancy mansion. He be sipping fine wine with some beautiful woman on his arm, red nails like claws, trying to harvest his attention. Crystal wine glasses clinging in toast, sweet nothings leaving his lips and maybe a few boring regrets. However tonight the only thing he was sipping was a strong latte, still dressed in his green surgical gear he hadn’t bothered to remove. Emergency Neurosurgeries was not on his favoured cards, especially since the past week had seemed to be all that. But no fear, the money would be raked thanks to on call hours. He wasn’t a gifted surgeon for nothing. Thanks to his perfect cutting hands that could cut on a dime. Fingers that had so much accuracy. No tremble, barely a movement. Yes, this was the rich life.

His boredom made him pull out his cellphone and type away, checking the feeds that to little extent impressed him. Videos of idiocy, gifs of cats, selfies and other garbage he really had no time for. Oh, how all this made him roll his tired eyes. Arrogant and as cocky as they come, but with a perfectly clean shaven structured face and blue eyes to die for. At times his surgical talent outlived his cold attitude. He’d learnt to cut off his emotion while in this line of work. It was better to feel nothing than too much.

Finishing his coffee with slight distaste he threw it in the nearest trashcan and began his walk down the empty lit hall. Little did Stephen Vincent Strange know, an ironic and cruel fate would happen that night. World’s would collide and his life would indeed house a series of unexplained events and un-normalities.

Back down in a nightclub not far away another event in history would be going down. In between the sensual dancing bodies, the complete hive of excitement and passion, the locking lips and groping. In between the living and careless was a man. A man who had made up his mind that night. He’d planned the path his life would take. From that day on his soul would be tainted black and dead. Black hood over his head, he slipped his hands into his hoodie and pulled out two fully loaded guns. He only had one goal that night. To kill as many as he could. The future would be drenched in the blood of it’s youths. A cruel, cruel world.

Gunfire and hysterical screams rang louder than the music. People ran desperately, while others clung onto their lifeless lovers. Bodies hit the floor, their lives running through their fingers and across the tiles, seeping through their clothes. The sin had been committed and now to turn the gun on himself. A splatter of blood against the wall. A coward, a villain, a devil himself.

All the doctors and nurses pagers went off sending a stampede of feet through all halls of the hospital as the news hit. The whirling sound of ambulances filled the air as TV broadcasts shot onto the breaking news. The night would be long and everyone would be in complete distress.

As the ambulances returned, Stephen was one of the surgeons rushing to the wave of injured bodies. Not all the surgeries tonight would be neurosurgery they had told him. He would have to bring out all the doctor stops. However to someone like him that didn’t matter. The challenge, the adrenaline was flowing through his veins like a drug as he ran down the hall, pulling on surgical gloves. Already the wounded he was seeing was near sickening. Blood, so much blood and screaming. Screaming he wouldn’t soon forget. It all made his stomach turn. He could smell it all in the air. A doctor’s skill. Sickness, injury, death all seemed to smell. Next to that partners carrying in their injured lovers, shrieking to high heavens. The waiting room was overflowing, a chaotic mess. Code Orange was in full swing.

Stephen almost froze at the scene. For one moment he was completely unsure. It was as if a movie was playing out in front of him, as if every detail was so strong to his senses. The drops of blood that trailed along the white tiles. The injured falling to their knees. People screaming at nurses and doctors in complete horror.

Bewildered by the chaotic scene he was eventually pulled from his thoughts as he heard a pained scream nearby. Looking towards the scream he saw a woman in a silver cocktail dress, leaning against the cold wall. One hand pressed to her side. Stephen’s eyes widened as he saw the blood soaking through her dress. She looked up at him through pure white hair and piercing blue eyes. Fear, agony, a hopelessness.

“He—lp” She gasped hard in between tears. Her make up ran almost like black tears in the rain.

Stephen rushed over to her and grabbed her body before it hit the ground. His breath almost became hitched in his throat as he realised the amount of blood she was losing. A woman was dying in his arms and he’d never felt so…hopeless.

_No Stephen. Stay emotionless. Do not fall weak at a time like this._

“I NEED HELP TO GET THIS WOMAN TO SURGERY NOW!” He shouted, holding the weakening woman next to her. “Stay with me ma’am. Just stay calm. What’s your name?”

“C—Clea…” She managed to croak out, her hands gripping tightly onto him. Her cold touch like the living dead. “You…You can’t…hel-p me…”

“Please don’t say that Clea.” Stephen was already now carrying her in his arms at a near run to a group of nurses. He was not going to listen to that type of talk. One of the nurses pushed one of the many beds towards him.

Lying the woman on the bed, he ran along beside her holding her blood soaked hand. Something was pulling him to stay by her, to be with her. He didn’t quite understand it, but she was a beautiful woman. Woman had never appeared that striking to his liking but this woman. It was as if she wasn’t even truely from this world. She didn’t seem real. Her snow white hair in ringlets somehow remained so perfect even if the tips were stained red. The silver dress almost making her shine like crystal, and those blazing blue eyes he couldn’t look away from.

“I need t-to tell you-u something…” She croaked, trying to tug him closer with her weak grasp in urgency.

Still keeping up, the surgeon leaned forward to her, curious to her words. “Yes Clea…?”

Without another word the woman grabbed his collar and pulled him down to her, ruby lips crushing hard against his. Everything seemed to stop for him, yet time continued. His blue eyes gazed massively into hers her, mind reeling more than it already was. He couldn’t pull away. Something urged him to kiss back in fact. Those luscious lips that tasted like cherry, hot tongue twirling with his. In between the blurred shouts of his name around him, he could hear the woman’s voice in his head.

[I will pass on today, but I need you, the souls need you. The kiss that blesses your lips is more than simple affection. It’s a kiss that will change you inside and out. A kiss that will retch your soul, your whole being. You will guide the souls of New York, Stephen Strange. Do not fail me. This is my last living request.]

Her hands retched around Stephen’s neck and pulled him closer. Her thumbs ran so simply through his hair and if one could have seen, maybe they would see the one strand of white she left across each temple like die in his black hair. The strands were as white as her own locks.

The bliss of the kiss was like a vicious drug drawing him in. Like an animal he wanted more and yet he knew he shouldn’t. Her kiss was pure depth, almost as if she truely was kissing his soul. But how could that be? That was absurd to think. One kiss could not touch a soul. But like a fairy tale the bliss was short lived before the pain started. And oh did the pain come.

Could a kiss burn this much? Could it feel like he was swallowing gasoline? His mouth was fire, stronger then any hot pepper. The pain caused a loud smothered scream against her lips. What in the Hell? Before he could react he was ripped away from her by others. He stood there trembling, eyes massive as blood slipped past his lips, heart thundering like a drum.

That could have gone much better.

“What the fuck was that Strange?” One of the nurses shouted at him almost looking as shocked as he was.

“I— I don’t know her. She grabbed me…I couldn’t—“ He stumbled over his words, still trying to grasp on what had transpired. Had a woman really just made out with him while near death?

“Take five and pull yourself together. This is a massive emergency, we need everyone and we need your head up here not down there.” She snapped before rushing off in a huff.

The shocked man rushed off as fast as he could, away from the chaos and noise, heading straight for the bathrooms. Slamming into the doors he rushed in and threw himself against the cold basin, trying to bring back a focus and composure. He refused to break here.

He ended up looking at the mirror, his reflection reflecting a horrific sight of his own fear. Blood ran down what looked like his ripped lips, next to that he was drenched in her blood. Letting out a frustrated groan he turned on the water and splashed his face. The cool water giving little to no relief. He couldn’t stop his own trembling as he began to feel slightly light headed. The stress was really not working well with him today. Maybe he did need to sit down. Maybe he needed two glasses of Vodka instead.

“What is going on…?” He mumbled to himself, a bloody gloved hand smacking to his face.

_You could have been listening to some crappy dance music right now, with a body grinding up against you._

“Okay, okay Strange just breathe!”

Leaning against the basin, head down he started to not feel as well as he had. In fact it wasn’t just a simple light headed feeling, it morphed into a dizzy motion. Stephen moved to lean against the wall his world beginning to spin violent. Fainting was not an option right now.

“Get it together Strange…” He groaned slightly as a wave of complete nausea hit him, causing him to slide down the wall into a heap.

The pressure like pain forming in his head was growing, complimented by a burning feeling forming in his chest. Heartburn maybe? His limbs were beginning to feel like jelly. Whatever his body was doing it was struggling. A thin layer of sweat began to form over his brow and that was hardly the worst of it. All his breakfast, his lunch, his dinner was being brought up all over the floor. The horrible taste filling his mouth uncontrollably.

_Is that blood I’m puking up! Oh God…_

His trembling hands began to desperately grip at the cold tiles. Every crawl was an effort, a struggle. What had that woman had? A bug? This wasn’t a bug. Projectile vomit? Diarrhoea? Blurred vision? Pain?

He didn’t know how long he was confined to the bathroom. How long everything was expelling from him. How much pain he was struggling with. Whatever the Hell he had never quite experienced a Hell this severe in his entire life. Somewhere he ended up slumped on the cold tiles, barely conscious in his own right. Every part of him was hurting, from his teeth to his digits. At least nobody had come looking for him. That could have been awkward. Eyes growing heavy he couldn’t help but notice a yellow glow before him. He tilted his head slightly on the cold tiles as a glowing form of a woman appeared.

It was her. Of course it was her…

“Come t-oo finish the job…?” He croaked, his teeth chattering slightly. Had it gotten so much colder in here?

“I’m so sorry…You weren’t the one supposed to have this burden, but I didn’t have time…you were the next best.” There was actually a look of regret in the woman’s face. Regret and almost sorrow came from the chiming voice.

“Next best for what?” He groaned as a sharp pain struck his sensitive stomach. He really was not done with this woman, but oh boy did he want to be.

“You’ve been given a gift. A Soul Guider. It’s a responsibility you…” She trailed off in hesitation, her white hair flowing around like her white dress. Pure and perfect. Angelic. “I don’t have much time, but someone will be around to explain. Again I am so sorry Doctor Strange… I hope I haven’t made a mistake…”

“A GIFT?” He spat. “You’ve totally made a fucken mistake you rambling pure nonsense woman!” He growled loudly, teeth in a gritted sneer. “Look what the Hell you have done to me!”

She seemed to shy away slightly at his outburst. “Nobody said dying was pleasant Stephen…”

“Di…dying?” Confusion laced Stephen’s voice, destroying the belt of frustration.

“Sorry Stephen…” She whispered, what seemed to be a tear running down her cheek. And with that the woman disappeared into nothingness.

“No…Don’t…Mm fuck…” He grunted as his head fell back onto to the hard tiles. “…Ow…”

From that night a new chapter in Stephen’s life had begun, but this was truely only the beginning of his week from Hell. Welcome to life between world’s Doctor Strange.


	4. It Runs In The Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

♫ **I turned around**

**To see the sound**

**And watched the world explode in the sky**

**But when I look straight at you...**

**I'm livin a deja vu**

**There's nothin else to do...**

**We've got nothing left to lose, yeah** ♫

 

A new day was dawning as the morning sun crept under the blinds. Legs stirred under the sheets, bodies pressed against each other for what warmth could be given, and a few light snores of content. Clothes layered the floor, along with books and papers half written. The bedroom lay in a messy state as it usually always did. Somehow everything was so easy to find. The dark blue walls slightly peeling was probably their only distress. Yet it was home. Sweet home.

Stephen’s face was buried deep into the fluffy pillow, his own mind trapped in a dream of his. Nightmares were more or less common to the man, some nights ruining his sleep entirely. This dream though that burned at him was a reoccurring dream. In it he’d stroll through a town, a town that seemed almost deserted in the dark of night. It didn’t seem to be in the city, more on the outskirts. An 1800’s village perhaps, cobblestone road, tree branches retching like old demented hands. Where you’d expect a vampire, a werewolf or the Headless Horseman. Some nights it was just him walking on forever. Other nights a woman with hair as white and fair as snow, dressed in an unusual pink and purple garb would stroll with him. A leotard and tights? Pink shoulder-pads? In these dreams he wore a flowing red cloak, lined with decorated gold that never touched a stone. A blue tunic that was tied with a yellow slash and yellow gloves that seemed to hide his hand’s scars. Words were rarely ever exchanged as they walked side by side. He almost got a sense she was watching over him, protecting him from beyond the dead, protecting the remains of his soul. That woman was Clea.

Stephen was disturbed from his slumber with a jolt as a heavy arm slammed over his head. And that would be the other reason he didn’t get much sleep. He rolled over and pushed away the stray arm of Tony who was sprawled out over his side of the bed. The soft snores flowed from the spirit as Stephen sat up and rubbed his face. His tired blue eyes rested on the body beside him. Sure Tony didn’t need to sleep. Whether he slept or not did not apply to the dead, but old habits died hard and living with someone who needed sleep helped. Tony fell into the habits of the living easily, doing exactly what the living did. He wasn’t your average spirit. He was…different.

A shaky hand slid across the warm sheets towards the spirit’s hand before he stopped himself. Almost a inner battle on whether to hold the other’s hand burnt at him, frustrated him.

Smothering a yawn instead, Stephen stood up and side glanced at himself in the mirror nearby. Oh how typical he looked dressed in a singlet and trackpants. He kept his hands behind him, hating the ugly sight of his scarred hands, but that didn’t hide the other hideous sores he wore that morning. Thanks to last nights assault a thin rope like mark cut into the flesh of his neck matching the ones on his wrists. Appearing like rope burn, but red and angry like a festering sore. To match an ugly slash ran across his cheek that not even make up could hide. A scarf and gloves were a must today at the least.

He leant forward on the cabinet, frowning at his own reflection. He swore the white on his temples was more prominent today. Could they get whiter daily? Was the darling Clea doing her magic from the beyond? Those gorgeous blue eyes blazed black, harvesting two small black dots. Black dots of torment, black dots he shouldn’t be housing. The same that was splattered all over his soul…

“Dormammu, you son of a bitch…” Stephen growled at his reflection. “I was a fool, but so were you…”

“I thought you said you’d never mention him again…” Came his lover’s voice from behind him mid yawn, as he pulled on a singlet. His manners did tend to lack in more ways then one. “How even just his name causes your soul to burn…to splinter more…”

“Sometimes you have to confront your demons, your Hell…” He turned to look towards Tony who was standing right behind him. He let in a sharp breath of air so suddenly, pressed up against the chest of drawers. No matter how many times he did that, knowing physics didn’t apply to spirits it still nerved him. His entire life was things creeping up behind him.

“And he works that pretty little face up.” Tony tilted his head, inspecting the wound on his neck. “People are going to think you’re up to some kinky fun…”

“I heard his voice, last night, before you came…” Stephen spoke, blowing Tony’s comment off with a voice a little more somber. The look on his face was dead serious.

“Don’t let him get to you…” Tony glared back into others’s eyes, his own blue’s housing identical black dots. “We’re supposed to be moving on…”

“How can I when he mentioned bargaining…?” Came the reply in almost a choke.

Tony remained quiet for a moment, just staring. His cheerful expression dropping like a thud. His glow almost shifted, darkening around his body, fists slightly balled up. It was a look of thought, a look of reflecting and not at all the pleasant kind. Stephen knew the spirit had every right to be angry. If those words didn’t bring a cold pain to them both, memories would. As if Tony realised anger wouldn’t get him anywhere, he simply cupped Stephen’s face and sighed, a very loud and frustrated sigh. “He can’t doom the already doomed. No regrets, remember?”

Ever so softly he rested his forehead against Stephen’s. Regardless of the cool touch making his hair stand on edge, Stephen welcomed it without a word. In losing everything at least he’d kept hold onto something. Tony was right. The doomed was already beyond saving.

Soft lips of Tony’s gently brushed against his. Even though Stephen didn’t seem to show it he felt the slight flutter in his heart, the warm taste of his Stark that graced his lips. The lips ran cold, but the feeling of it was more stronger. Stronger enough to let a slight tinge of Stephen’s emotion through in the form of a slight smile. As Tony teased his lips with soft kisses, Stephen’s eyes drifted off towards the Oak cabinet he was against. Hm no, that wasn’t quite right. Something was missing.

He pressed two shaky fingers to Tony’s lips, halting him. He pretended not to feel a tongue graze his fingers in that one. Instead he turned around, looking desperately under everything on the cabinet top. More papers, candles, a few of Tony’s weird inventions.

_Where is it?_

Tony gave a sigh and rolled his eyes. “Right. Who needs morning kisses right? Not Stephen Strange…No HE doesn’t need any kisses. I’d get more attention from a cat. Hey Stephey, can I get a cat?”

“Tony, where is it!” Stephen exclaimed in a state of panic, feeling his heart in his chest.

“No cat then…” Tony mumbled as he walked off out of the other’s sight. Stephen madly began to look through the draws. It could not be misplaced. He had not touched it, or had he? Where could the dagger go? He could not lose that dagger. It meant more than anything and that was not an overreaction. If Stephen had learnt anything this year it was to never, ever misplace the Dagger of the Dark Dimension. A dagger that had once belonged to Clea and passed down to him. The power and history behind it though? Bloody and agony. To lose it well, he might as well rip out his own guts.

In a state of shear panic he gasped as he felt as something cold and sharp pressed to the side of his neck. His upbeat pulse throbbing against it. One wrong move, one piece of pressure and a cut artery could grace him. The familiar burn the blade had on his skin automatically told him what it was. The dagger.

“Looking for this?” Tony spoke against his ear, a smile in his voice. “Didn’t want you to accidentally stab yourself last night, so I hid it under my pillow. See, I’m very resourceful.”

The tension that had built up in Stephen seemed to pass once realisation had hit. Instead a slight shiver ran through him. “I should have known…”

“Course…” He slipped his arms over Stephen’s shoulders and dangled the dagger in-front of their vision. “This piece of junk means more to you then anything…”

Stephen’s eyes were memorised on the dagger swaying like he was being hypnotised. “You know why…” At this point in his life that dagger was basically another limb to him, a limb he couldn’t afford to lose.

Tony rested it in Stephen’s grasp before wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and hugging him tightly from behind. His heavy head rested on Stephen’s shoulder. “Mmm yeah…magic soul stuff…”

“See Tony, you could pretend like you care. This involves you to. There’s more to this dagger than just that.” Stephen said matter-of-factly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he stared at the weapon, almost hearing Dormammu’s voice again.

The spirit managed a mumble against the man’s singlet. “Mm I’m sure you’re gonna tell me again babe…”

“That Clea entrusted me of all people with this dagger? One of the most powerful weapons the Soul Guiders could be gifted with?” He turned the blade in his hand. It’s gold handle seemed to glow against his skin, it’s silver blade reflecting his own face as if it had never been used before. The warm feel of magic radiated off it. “We’re all given weapons to protect ourselves with…”

“Yeah you have that hideous massive axe and that. Really medieval if you ask me.”

“Respect please Stark…” He grumbled darkly. He held the dagger in one shaky hand, his other resting on Tony’s arm. “But this is the only object that can penetrate the shadows. It’s enchantments are like that never seen before. From a line of Soul Sorcerers, if not the more frowned upon Soul Guiders.”

“Yes because not all of you folk are mystics as well as soul people which always confused me since well, both is magic…”

“It’s different… Oh come on. It’s not like you are even listening…” The man grumbled, staring back at their reflection. Tony and his tired eyes were staring at the mirror, almost reflecting the same darkened look, a yellow glow radiating from the cold spirit. If Stephen stared hard enough he could imagine Tony with his arms wrapped tightly around his neck, trying to get him to make faces in the mirror. Something about a selfie for a profile picture. It had ended in taking kisses, a stupid dare and well…

“Kinda am, kinda aren’t…kinda too busy falling asleep against you…” Tony’s voice broke into Stephen’s nostalgia thoughts.

“This is the dagger that saved us Tony. Without it Dormammu would have probably killed us...” And that was the grim truth of it. A sharp blade, slashed bleeding creatures and a roughly gauging stab.

“And yet you said you felt your soul break when you did it… It splintered it. It just damned us. So much for the magic right, magician?” Tony said bluntly, the strands of somewhat frustration and hurt deep down. Nobody said their relationship was ever perfect and rainbows.

“And yet, here we are. Are we going to bring up more regrets while we are at it?” The man said just as bluntly back. If he wanted to dig up the buried topic so soon he was all for it.

“Sorry. It’s just… You learnt magic only because she was a Sorceress of the Souls. You felt obliged to carry on that ‘frowned upon’ legacy. Because no other one would. They are all goodie two shoes and you are…Stephen. Now everyone wants you for the wrong reasons and that’s just a lot to take in…” The spirit’s tone became somber. “You’ve all I’ve got right now you know?”

“That’s not the biggest reason…” Stephen trailed off as he reflected on the path this conversation was going. “Don’t say that—”

“No, lets stop this convo.” Tony cut in, jumping away from Stephen, suddenly energetic and awake. “It’s making me a restless spirit…”

Stephen rested the dagger back on the cabinet, remembering exactly where. He was now going nowhere without it. It was proven he was still green, still learning and danger was more prominent than he’d expected. Shaky hands began to slowly grab his clothes for the day, watching Tony on the corner of his eye.

The spirit was staring out the window as if he saw something, almost a longing look in his eyes as he rested his hand against the window pane. A slight turning twisted in the man’s stomach as he adverted his eyes.

Tony was a spirit stuck on Earth. Part of him would always long for the something that lingered beyond this world. Almost like a caged animal. But in a lot of ways Tony wasn’t like any spirit he crossed over. Where most spirit’s couldn’t interact with objects he could. To anyone else other than a Soul Guider, they would witness a floating object or something possessed. And Stephen knew he was hugely the reason this spirit was stuck here.

“I think I might go and get a drink…” He said shying away from the distressing thoughts.

“Mmm I’ll come with…” The spirit mused, stepping away from the window with a small sigh.

Were they doomed to live in constant suffering?


	5. You Can’t Run Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

♫ **Run boy run! This world is not made for you**

**Run boy run! They’re trying to catch you**

**Run boy run! Running is a victory**

**Run boy run! Beauty lays behind the hills** ♫

 

A cool breeze had settled in, blowing silent whispers through the busy city. The street was a hustle and bustle, the perfect time to blend into society and feel mostly normal. Just a number in the census, just a face in the crowd, just a soul living in a world against them.

Stephen kept his head down, eyes forward as he was one of the footsteps gracing the trampled sidewalk. His red and gold scarf flew out behind him almost in a dramatic fashion as the breeze caught it. Yellow gloves were shoved into the deep pockets of his brown long trench-coat. A warm mystic energy seemed to surround him, keeping him from walking into things as he walked. Usually walking cleared his cluttered mind and freed the tension of emotions. Brisk mornings were his favourite. There the cold flattered him with icily kisses against his cheeks and chapped lips. However the cool breeze today did little to no such thing.

He didn’t need to look up to feel the auras around him. Eyes stuck to the pavement, he could feel them pulsing around. Colours of many, contrasts of a dozen. That was one of the harder things to get used to. More so ignoring them.

As the days went on it seemed he struggled more. Mentally, emotionally, physically, with simple things. One person that would bottle up everything till it exploded, but that is how he worked. How he had always worked. A man of many emotions, emotions he couldn’t express. Emotions he had locked up. Emotions he refused to feel or show.

He finally looked up towards Tony who was walking backwards in front of him. Everyone he walked through seemed to freeze or jolt while others looked around. To them he felt like a sudden cold pressure running through them. The literal definition of feeling like someone is walking over your grave. The man had no extra energy to tell the spirit off for being so immature and risky.

The cheery spirit was dressed in his favourable red hoodie, hood tightly on around his head. Again he didn’t even feel the cold, but anything to give him that humanity he was surely missing. With magic Stephen could change the spirit’s clothing or else he’d be constantly living in the clothes he’d died in. And none of them wanted to be remembered of that horrific day.

“Theres a load of people huh? Hopefully we get a seat.” Tony chimed, finally walking forwards again. His footsteps fell in-sync with Stephen’s, the only thing missing was the sound.

The man gave a slight sigh of defeat. “We’ll be fine. Who rushes to the bar this early in the morning, regardless of it also being a cafe?”

Tony gave a scoff. “Hey, I used to go to the bar this early. Course I’d sometimes spend almost a night there…” His eyes drifted nearby to a couple walking. The woman all decked out in a winter coat and gloves, both arms wrapped around one of her lover’s arms, cheek resting on his shoulder.

“Don’t even think about it…” Stephen mumbled as if he was reading Tony’s thoughts. The sly eyes he couldn’t help watch. The man knew this wouldn’t stop the spirit though.

If inspired Stephen rolled his eyes as he felt Tony link a arm through his and huddle up to it, head awkwardly resting on Stephen’s shoulder. Unlike the much smaller woman, it didn’t work as well for Tony, but that didn’t bother the spirit.

“Where does your shame begin and end Tony, because I’d love to know…” The man grumbled at the sudden lean on him.

“Nobody can see, don’t worry…” The spirit quickly spoke back.

If that was all entirely true. A feeling was creeping up Stephen’s back that he couldn’t quite place. If the warm eyes of one could make a shiver run up your spine, a crawling under your skin like angry bugs he was feeling that now. He quickly looked around. This wasn’t paranoia, there were prying eyes somewhere in the crowd and all for him. Could it be the shadows? Restless spirits? Or _them_?

Both men slipped into the bar’s entrance and swiftly took their places at the bar. Tony leaned on the bar and stared up at the alcohol behind the glass cabinet, listing off all the different types. A simple spell to mask Tony’s voice was all he needed. Just like some ghosts, the ghosts you hear speaking in the night, whispering in your ear, he had that affect.

Stephen pulled the long scarf around his shoulders as he ordered a strong tea. Very strong tea, regardless of the weird look the waiter gave him.

_Oh, who goes to a bar just to get tea?_

He rested his gloved fingers on the polished wooden bar top, his eyes taking another look around him. Not many people littered the place. Table tops let untouched, menus still standing, the music a distant chime of the Jukebox not far away. Was that The Goo Goo Doll’s Iris?

“And I'd give up forever to touch you, cause I know that you feel me somehow. You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be…” Stephen could hear Tony lightly sing beside him, swallowing hard as if the words hit reality a little big hard. That did not help his tension at all.

_Just relax Stephen. What the Hell is wrong with you?_

He jumped as a tea was placed in front of him with a teapot, snapping him from his paranoid thoughts. Paying the waiter quickly he began to needly drink at the warm, soothing tea. Gloved yellow fingers snaking around the mug, hoping for some clarity. The warmth hit his stomach with a sudden thud, spreading through his cold stiff body. Nothing like tea to hit the spot. Bless tea.

“You and your tea. You’d be better with coffee…” Tony mused, poking the teapot enough for it to move a few millimetres at a time.

“You don’t complain about kisses after tea…” Stephen said flatly, lips resting against the rim.

“Teacup gets more action than me…” He mumbled, as Stephen gave him a half amused look.

“Lets try to keep tea an innocent topic shall we…?” Stephen had mastered the art of talking low enough for the spirit to hear, but not seem like he was talking to himself. In busy situations his Astral form was very useful.

“It became dirty when you started drinking it…” The spirit smirked, voice becoming as smooth as honey. “I could try some Stephen Tea right now. Erotic flavouring, sprinkled in peppermint…”

The man almost spat out his tea, instead coughing loudly as he swallowed it the wrong way. Tony couldn’t help laugh, his blue eyes bright with his devilish teasing. Stephen managed to regain his cough and it was hard to tell if the coughing had made his cheeks red or he was softly housing a blush. Letting out a small breath to stop the coughing he poured some more tea into his teacup acting un-phased. Best to ignore the sudden spike in his heart-rate.

_Damn, why do I still love this idiot?_

Not long later a few more people began to arrive, dispersing through the room. The unoccupied seat next to Stephen was suddenly taken causing him to look on the corner of his eye. A middle aged woman with straight long purple hair was seated next to him. Leather jacket over a brown light brown dress that flowed to her knees, followed by black tights and knee high boots. Perfectly manicured ruby red nails shone as she tapped them on the bar top. The waiter was already falling head over heels for the woman wearing sunglasses, tongue sliding over her lips in seductive fashion to the man before her. A soft coo of her voice like velvet. There was no doubt about it. The woman was trying to use her devilish charm and looks to pay and she might be just doing fine. As if to state her claim she slipped off her sunglasses to glance at him. With the waiter wrapped around her finger, he took her order and bolted off.

Stephen kept his eyes straight on the counter, feeling a nerving feeling coming to him. Was that the feeling he’d felt before? It seemed Tony felt the same. Tony was staring straight at her like he’d never stared before. Not out of affection or curiosity, but worry. Stephen could feel the tension near vibrating off the spirit, hear his jaw clench. Tony was in a state of distress. He’d rarely seen that before.

The woman having gotten her wine, sipped at it softly with a slight hum. The tension was now spreading to Stephen, her aura different then all the auras that surrounded him. He just couldn’t put his finger on the pulse with her.

“Stephen Strange is it?” The woman finally spoke, her eyes still focused on the wine she was downing.

The man flinched along with his lover as he heard his name. How did she know his name? Was she an old doctor? Medical student? No, something was not right here.

She placed down her drink and looked towards him. It wasn’t long before her eyes drifted from him to the frozen spirit who was still tranced by her. “Is that your spirit friend Tony Stark huh?”

_SHIT. They have found us._

Tony was the first to jump up and leave the building quick smart as Stephen seemed to be stunned. Hands trembling more than usual, he slid off the stool and headed after Tony, his blue eyes huge in fear. But this would not be easy. He knew she was following and now it wasn’t just her, there were more. Two men, those eyes he’d felt before. Catching up with Tony outside, both began to walk fast through the crowd, heads down. Stephen’s heart beat began to rise as their burning stares became closer. They had to stay to the crowd. They wouldn’t dare try anything among the citizens, but he’d heard horror stories. These weren’t just any Soul Guiders, they had to be from the top, the ones wanting to know everything about him. Wanting to know exactly why Clea would choose a stranger, why a spirit stayed with him, why Dormammu hadn’t killed him. And quite frankly that made him sound like a threat, he didn’t blame them.

“They won’t drop us and we can’t lead them home…” Tony said, his own voice full of nerves. “Maybe its time to open your bags of tricks Magic Man…”

The man frowned slightly before grabbing Tony’s hand and pulling him sharply into an alley. Once in they both ran, feet trampling the broken, uneven ground, dodging the trashcans that littered the side. The pounding footsteps and shouts behind them began to grow closer before they hit a dead end. A damn building wall and stupid high fence. Stephen and Tony spun around, hands out as if ready for a confrontation.

Finally slowing to a halt a few metres away the three strangers stood. The two men both dressed like businessmen in coats and hats stood on either side of her. Boots clicking on the broke concrete she ever so slightly strolled forwards.

“Well, well Doctor Strange and Tony Stark. What an unsightly couple you are.” She mused, flicking her purple hair behind her back. “An unsightly couple that has indeed shocked and made the Soul Guiders community ever so curious.”

“Curious? Is this what you call curious? We are doing fine. I’m doing my job and you…” Stephen pointed out a shaky gloved finger. “All you lot do is pry, pry and make our life a misery.” The man now had gritted teeth. “I have to juggle dealing with dead spirits and a shitty magician job on the side and also YOU!”

The woman stared with a risen eyebrow expression at his outburst. Her look was near careless as she slipped out a gun from beneath her leather jacket. Not just any gun however. Just like Stephen had an axe and a dagger, she had a gun. A gun to protect herself from the living and the dead. Where it could do damage to Stephen, it could do just as much damage to Tony.

The man swallowed hard, feeling himself drain cold.

“Let’s not make this difficult now Stephen, shall we?”


	6. Believe in Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

♫  **Pain without love**

**Pain, I can't get enough**

**Pain, I like it rough**

**'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all** ♫

 

Stephen was glaring hard at the woman in front of him, hands in tight shaking fists at his side. Her look in general was tormenting him without the fact there was a gun pointed at his head. His dagger burned under his coat as if calling him to use it, edging him to harm. In this situation though a dagger was a little out dated and if not inappropriate. It’s true power would not be achieved or worth the effort. What a pickle to be in.

But of course there was more to Stephen Strange than the naked eye could see. The share reason why he was known as the ‘Mysterious Sorcerer of Souls’. Judging by her aura she was purely just a Soul Guider. Nothing special lay about her, nothing hidden, nothing tainted. And especially nothing mystical. That was a clear advantage he held. She was so far from him, he forced himself not to smirk in smugness. Maybe this would go more smoothly than previously thought.

_Lets not get too cocky Strange._

As they stood there, as her voice carried over to him on the breeze, his hands ceased their trembling and instead switched into an odd form. Was he making two rock signs with his hands? Not quite. The cool breeze around himself began to turn warmer, a soft pressure beginning to build up around his self. He could feel it lapping at his skin like electricity as he called to it, as his body welcomed it. An unseen energy. The beauty of magic.

The woman noticed the shift in his aura, the bright green becoming noticeably more prominent around him. “What the Hell are you doing Strange…?” She hissed, her eyes flashing with worry.

As the breeze grew to a wind, his scarf and trench coat flowed around him, blue eyes harvesting its own green glow. The more than man silently called to it, the more it complied waiting for use by his command.

“If you all like to spy on me so damn much then you must know I’m not like any other Soul Guiders in the country at least.” Gold bands now began to form around his hands as he raised them high. A gold shimmering began to form around the area as if they were confined to a cage, before it dissolved into fragments like flames. “An illusion, so the innocent can’t see us. You may be thoughtless, but I am not.”

“I guess the rumours are true…” The woman darkly glared, a shift in her own aura. Worry. Alarm. “You have lowered yourself to frowned upon /magic/. The same magic Sorceress Clea fell to. What a shame…”

“No shame here…” Stephen spoke loudly. Once the magic ran through him, through his veins, a blast of confidence seemed to slip into him. The sorcerer in him coming to life. “Just following in my Guardian’s footsteps. Continuing her legacy. I’d be a fool not to continue.”

“She was barely your Guardian! She didn’t even know you! You’re psychotic.” The woman snapped, eyeing up the yellow glow around his fingers that he began to manipulate. “Bonkers!”

“A sexy psychotic magician.” Tony couldn’t help but say as he smirked towards the sorcerer. Even if magic slightly turned his stomach, he was seemingly proud for his lover.

The woman pulled out another weapon from her jacket. A baton looking object with a rope tied around it. No doubt that was a whip and a crafted Soul Guiders item. She threw the man behind her a gun, while the other pulled out his own gun. Stephen held his glowing hands steady at his side, face set in a wild grimace as she began to circle him. Like a rabbit being circled by a wolf, forcing himself not to try and flee. Every move, every step, Stephen’s blue eyes caught.

“There is no need to make a scene Strange.” With a flick of her wrist, the whip unraveled. What a nasty looking whip to. Harsh rough leather, made to do a heck load of damage at that. The enchantments it held harvested its own magic, but it was always like that. Limited controlled magic, not meant to be explored like he had.

A load crack hit the ground as she slashed it through the air. Tony shifted slightly, the whip nerving him like a horse being broken in. Any spirit would react that way to such a weapon, especially knowing it was one thing that could cease their existence beyond anything else. What lay beyond existence of a soul? Nobody truely knew. Theories say burning, agony and then nothing.

“Back off and maybe I won’t need to make one…” He snarled, face set in anger. “I’ve had enough of you all!”

With a flick of her hair the woman ran at him, a blur of purple and black. Now Soul Guiders were people no less. People caught between life and death, hence the ability to see the dead, but feel the living. With this came a few other things about them. They had enhanced senses which made them all more stronger, their mind and body reacted to things much faster and their reflexes were that much quicker. If taught how to use such skills, they could be a real threat and even deadly. At least enough to protect themselves from the dangers in their job. That was Stephen’s downfall.

As Stephen heard one of the gunshots, his complete focus fell to the bullet slicing towards him. Glowing hands thrown in front of him a yellow shield formed in front of him covered in runes, causing the bullet to ricochet off.

_First time that spell did good!_

Many things were still pressed against the sorcerer. Mainly the fact he’d only been doing this for almost a year. Still new and untrained to the arts he felt a whip come in contact with one of his hands. Had that been a distraction? A shriek escaped his mouth at the surging of pain, breaking the shield spell at once. Pain on top of already damaged hands that were still on the mend was not good. Fresh tears were springing to his eyes as the pain became like fire, surging up his arms. A mixture of personal pain and weaponry.

So here was the thing. Soul Guiders were trained to do what they do. Stephen had not been. They were trained before the gift or curse was passed on to them. At that point they could handle the strain, know how to fight the shadows, and how to adapt. How to save their mental toll and especially how to use there superhuman talents. Stephen was a ‘mistake’ as they put it quite literally. He wasn’t supposed to be the next Soul Guider. He literally had been a random Clea had chosen in desperation. Death had taken her much to quickly and Stephen, well he had been there or so thats what everyone believed. Stephen knew other.

Pushing through the pain, blood seeping through the slash to his glove he rose his hands once more. With a shouting of words the glow around his hands began to turn crimson. This was a newer spell he’d learnt, one he had taken a liking to as much as it had him. The wind around them seemed to grow stronger still.

“BY THE MOONS OF MUNNOPOR, I RELEASE UPON YOU THE CRIMSON BANDS OF CYTTORAK!”

The world around them began to turn a glowing crimson as crimson bands filled the air, like living tendrils. His glowing hands moved around him as the mystical bands shot off in all directions. Bands wrapped around the men and hung them upside down by their legs, leaving them flailing in distress and dropping their guns. One band lashed out and wrapped around the running woman who let out a scream. Stephen didn’t even need to see it to feel she’d be snatched. He was more than in-tune with his own spells. Not as in-tune with the world around him though. Before she lost her grip on the whip she lashed it towards Tony. So swiftly the whip wrapped around Tony’s legs and broke off like a rope. High electric blue charges began to run up Tony from the rope who let out a horrible pained scream and fell to the ground spasming. His hands desperately began to try and tug at the restraint, only to scream as they began to burn his palms.

That scream was enough to send Stephen’s stomach into his throat.

Eyes now locked on the spirit, his rage froze. “TONY!” Stephen shouted, rushing to the side of the spasming spirit.

At once the crimson bands disappeared and sent the three flying before they slammed headfirst into the ground. Still learning to even control the spells he knew, he couldn’t hold them for long or at least multitask with them. A downside among all the others.

Kneeling beside Tony, he rose his hands to the ropes and whispered softly “The Demons of Denak.” Small green mystic energy like claws began to slash at the ropes, tearing them to shreds. Stephen made sure not to harm the spirit in bonds who was already in his own state. With the ropes shredded, Tony finally stopped looking as though he was having a seizure. Drool was running from his mouth as he dazedly groaned and looked at Stephen.

“L-Lets n-not do that a-a-again…” Tony spluttered quietly.

Even with his magic the ropes had burnt through the spirit's clothes, leaving red ugly burns on his legs. No doubt Tony was in his own amount of pain, maybe the same amount going through his hands or worse. Stephen’s trembling hand softly rested on Tony’s chest before he looked up, eyes burning with a new found rage. This was far from a joke now. What sort people were these?

“HOW DARE YOU HARM A SPIRIT!” Blinded by his own thoughts and anger, Stephen jumped to his feet, his mind and hands working before he focused. “IN THE NAME OF THE FUCKEN HOSTS OF HOGGOTH I CONJURE THE BOLTS OF BALTH—“.

Before Stephen could finish his sentence something cold hard and very metal slammed with full force into the back of his head. A groan slipped from Stephen’s mouth as his legs gave way under him and he slammed into the ground. Before unconsciousness enveloped him from the assault he saw a black heeled boot beside his face and the soothing words of that darn woman. “All hail the Mysterious Doctor Strange, Sorcerer of Souls.” And with that everything turned black.


	7. Not Even Through A Sorcerer’s Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

♫ **I don't know where you're going,**

**But do you got room for one more troubled soul?**

**I don't know where I'm going,**

**But I don't think I'm coming home**

**And I said, I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead**

**This is the road to ruin and we're starting at the end** ♫

 

_**Sin 2: To Love A Spirit** _

There was always the unpleasantness waking up from a knock out. The bleating burn of pain, the struggle to open the eyes and the fear of what one would wake up to. All of these fell into stride as Stephen felt himself come around. What heck of a knock had he taken. Dazed and disorientated, his brain finally kicked in as he sat up quickly, hands glowing a bright green in an instant. Ready to fight his way out of Hell or so be it. They obviously had captured him and he in no way was giving them an advantage.

“WOAH, STEPHEN, RELAX.” Came the soft voice of Tony. “You’re safe…we’re home…see…”

As the sorcerer’s mind began to settle, the room around him became familiar. The look, the smell, the feeling. Fingers scrunched up the silky duet under his hand. He was indeed in his bedroom, sprawled out on the bed in his own sweat and blood. A thin bandage was wrapped around his slashed throbbing hand. Sitting up with a groan he ripped off the scarf from around him as if he couldn’t breath. He needed some air for a second. Softly he looked towards Tony, gnawing his lip. Tony looked more worse for ware. Slashed jeans branishing burn marks underneath, scratched face, but only all worry he held was for him. Another thing that bugged him.

“How did you get us out of there Tony?” Stephen grumbled, touching the tender back of his head. A warm glow came from his hand as he very lightly tried his luck on a healing spell. The one spells he struggled so hard at. The one spell that had cost him the one thing he’d loved.

The spirit leapt on the bed beside him and tilted his head. “If you can’t reveal your secrets why should a scientist reveal his?”

“Scientist is redundant and because I’m supposed to be the only one who knows tricks…” The man gave up with the spell, at least killing off the harsh throb. Difficult spirit, so very difficult. Even in life he hadn’t been a easy guy…

Tony grabbed something heavy off the bedside table and held it out in front of Stephen who was fighting to pull off his coat. Clothing was proving a mission today, of course that could have been due to his frustration. The sorcerer’s eyes gazed over to the object as he just blinked. Another one of Tony’s bizarre inventions. Tony had been an inventor of all sorts. The passion had never left him and in order to kill time he made things. Pointless things, helpful things. It wasn’t clear why he did such, but it kept him silent. This latest model was what looked like a red and gold armoured gauntlet. In the middle of the palm was a circle which by Stephen’s guess lit up.

“A glove? A glove protected us?” Stephen asked, tone a blank disbelief. Now that was ridiculous as it sounded.

“Not just any glove. You don’t let me learn magic, I have no interest in learning such, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to use it to help you.” The spirit slid on the gauntlet, at once the palm began to glow with a light blue pulse. “I found a way to harvest it. The gauntlet absorbs the magic as you use it. Channels it, uses it to whim. With your knowledge and my genius I created something cool!”

Stephen made a slight face at that. “A mixture of science and magic. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that…”

“That I used not only my repulser tech, but channeled the magic still in the air around you? You should feel safe. I managed to drag you away while our followers got a stunning explosition act. A head start at least. You’re not the only one with enchanted weapons you know…” The spirit was indeed enjoying this. Enjoying his moment of victory. Couldn’t fault how genius this spirit truely was.

The sorcerer gave a soft sigh and couldn’t help the shards of a small smile grace his lips. It warmed him to know the spirit had his back even if it felt like he had failed him. The event that had transpired could have ended very badly for them both. Taken in as prisoners or death. He knew he had a lot to learn and he was terrified he couldn’t learn it any faster.

“I guess I owe you one…” Stephen said, a softer tone he rarely used as he stretched out to grab a book from the bedside table. Another of Clea’s mystic reads he should really he getting into, especially after today.

“Oh no. I believe you owe me two so far and quite frankly you owe me now…” The spirit teased with a grin. Some of Tony’s human traits really had not left him, for better or worse. Playboy till the foreseeable end.

“Heh, no.” Stephen sat up and opened the book, fingers already underlining the first word as he saw moment on the corner of his eye.

A scoff came from the spirit as he slinked over to the sorcerer and straddled his lap, snatching the book from his grasp. The towering spirit regardless of what he’d just encountered could barely keep himself to himself anytime. Tricks that had probably worked once. Tricks that sure as hell had worked on Stephen so many months ago. That bearded crazy was going to try anything.

“Since I’m the one due, I say when you owe me and now is a good time.” Tony grinned, letting the book fall to the ground with a thud. Clea would have killed him and the man couldn’t help flinch.

The sorcerer’s gaze was emotionless as he spoke. “No, it’s a very bad time. People are after us. I was just hit across the head and you, well…” How could he honestly think of fun and games at a time like this? After what had just happened to them both. The spirit was too carefree for this world.

Pressing his luck the spirit tried a hard smooch at the man’s lips, only to find himself kissing a barrier of green magic that Stephen conjured up in an instant. It was always like this lately. Always.

“You’re doing it again Stephen…” The obvious signs of bitterness in Tony’s tone came to life.

Stephen rose a brow at him. “What now?”

The fun and teasing spirit was now gone, showing a frustrated and angry spirit. “That thing. That thing where I swear you’re pushing me away or so Hell bent on making this thing difficult. Don’t feel right? That’s your thing. Don’t care, that’s your other thing to. Maybe its a magic thing. I wouldn’t know though. You barely can even talk to me. As if we aren’t even in the same world…”

_Ouch!_

“That is not it and heck, you wouldn’t even understand half of it…” Stephen almost soon regretted those words as they escaped past his lips like a curse. He should not have said that.

“ME? Not understanding? Oh, HA you want me to laugh more at that? I can try.” Came the spit of sarcasm from Tony. His glowing blue eyes darkened as if he’d been insulted.

He had to try and right that error. “Tony it’s…”

“Do not try and patronise me Stephen. You do not understand a thing. You…you…” The spirit’s voice turned low as it drifted off into the tension full room.

Tony’s glow seemed to dim slightly as his mood plummeted, the flickers of hurt brushing his face. Stephen could read it all too well. They shared this weird connection, not fully but enough for it to cause problems. Maybe he didn’t physically hurt this spirit, but mentally? He had his moments. The spirit sat back on the bed, eyes a gateway to misery.

“You want to know how it feels Stephen? How /I/ feel? It’s murder.” Tony closed his eyes as he spoke, not wanting to see anything. “I’m not made for this world anymore Stephen. I’m not even supposed to be here…”

Hearing Tony talk that way bugged Stephen. It bugged him for all the wrong reasons, but he knew it was truely right. A spirit did not have a place on this world. They were made for the beyond, the great. Restless spirits were what they became when death deceived them or when a Soul Guider didn’t know how to let go. Dark spirits they roamed the world, longing, craving for a world they could not have. The crux of agony.

“It hurts everyday. Somethings calling to me, but I can’t follow it but I have to…” The spirit’s hand rested over his chest. “Theres this odd burning inside me like a constant fever I can’t diminish. Somehow I’m paying for this and it’s not letting me forget.” His soft blue eyes finally opened, glassy and desperate. “The voices are making me want to beg you, to free me from this world I’m trapped in. Isn’t that mad? They know what you do, but they don’t know that time has passed. I can’t move on…”

A lump was forming in Stephen’s throat. He so desperately was holding the emotion back. Somewhere along the way he’d decided to completely cut himself off. No more emotion meant no more hurt. No more feelings meant no more attachment. And thats where once again he was only thinking of himself. His miserable self. As a doctor he’d only let a certain amount of emotion. Be caring to the patient, but no attachment. It had worked in his favour. The day of Tony’s death though? He’d killed the rest of his emotions.

“And then I see you and hey, I feel a little better. You sidetrack my mind from the voices just by talking. You turn the hurting burn into something magically when you kiss me. Just being around me, you make me know that my calling is here. You saved me one time, it may have doomed us, but I owe that favour back. You’re all I have now Stephen or else I’m a restless lost spirit, with no purpose and no home. That sounds like pure agony to me.” He became quiet briefly as if he was thinking. “I can hear them. I can hear them…” He drifted off, his blue eyes gazing to the roof as if he heard something. “The restless souls speak, they cry, they scream, they beg to die again.”

The sorcerer’s own eyes had seemed to glass over. Laces of emotion beginning to slip through. Hearing him was murder. Right now emotional pain was overtaking his physical pain. The world was full of the restless dead. He’d heard horror stories about them. Spirits were to be protected and saved. He was the only thing stopped this spirit’s horror and pain and yet, he was thinking all about himself. Just like he had when he was a doctor. Had he really learnt anything or changed at all?

“The block in your mind stops you from hearing them. Some relief to you I suppose, but these are spirits like me. They were done wrong by Soul Guiders, done wrong by their lovers, done wrong by fate. They aren’t lucky enough to be where I am today. In a way I was given a second chance regardless of the circumstances.” Tony now directly looked at Stephen. “It’s okay to care. It’s okay to feel. When I was alive I may have not believed it, but I learnt to care too much.”

With that Stephen and Tony stared at each other in silence. No words, no sounds, no movements. While Stephen’s mind reeled wildly he could see Tony was waiting, waiting for a reaction. Barely a breath could be heard, barely even a heartbeat. The slow tick of a clock, the rustle of a bird against the window, a car alarm blearing.

_Something. Anything._

How long could Stephen keep being clinical and shutting the world off? How could he push away someone who had his back for this? Tony was the first other person to know about his gift even if at first he’d thought it was a joke or act. Normal reaction for a normal person of course. He had to push aside his ego, his work to briefly enjoy what he still had. Most of his life had been ripped away from him, most of it was full of pain and fear. He couldn’t let the only good thing go. Almost at once Clea’s words echoed in his head from the past.

_In between the beauty of magic is pain and danger. In the rarity you find any happiness cling onto it. You will need it through your struggles. Don’t let it go…_

_Don’t let him go…_

A shaky hand retched out to the spirit and took a handful of his hoodie, pulling him down to him. “They say a sorcerer needs an apprentice right? I believe the slot is open.”

Tony couldn’t help give a big smile, looking down at Stephen who seemed warmer, blue eyes housing their own glassy look of tears. Even with the spirit’s cool fingers running against the sorcerer’s unkept beard, they seemed a little warmer, a little softer.

“Can we drop the magic act huh?” Tony’s soft lips were already at Stephen’s jaw, soft kisses running along the prickly skin. “Pretend like this is before everything. Maybe pretend we are normal, mostly normal…”

The sorcerer couldn’t help give a smile, his long arms wrapping around the other. Simple actions like this no matter how small made him feel normal. A normal life was all he’d ever asked for, but fate is there to destroy your biggest dreams. Lips to send shivers down ones spine, slipped down the hot skin of Stephen’s neck, reminding him just how human he could be. That he could feel something. Not all was lost. And Stephen couldn’t lie. He couldn’t ignore the fact that he loved this.

Maybe for a few moments he could forget it all. “Then show me how to feel some sort of emotion Mechanic.” Stephen mused softly. “And maybe I can hold back any magic…”

“Can’t tell which context you used that in…May have just jinxed myself…” Tony’s face was only inches from Stephen’s a wide smile bringing life back to his eyes.

“Guess you’ll have to find out…” The unseen side to Stephen was slipping out. A side that hardly anyone could believe he harnessed. Maybe his biggest weakness. Caring.

Tony’s lips crashed hard against Stephen’s, deep and blissful. Moments like this the world was theres. Every problem, every pain, every thought was ceased. It was only them. A twirling of tongues, shaking hands buried deep in soft hair, hands tracing down skin like a map, a complete weakness of the mind and body for one another. A doomed spirit he could still touch, still love. Was that truely doomed or did it house a silver lining? Regardless the normal would come to them that night. Not a sorcerer, not a spirit, just two cursed lovers.


	8. The Princess In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

♫I **'m just a dreamer, I dream my life away**

**I'm just a dreamer, who dreams of better days**

**I'm just a dreamer, who's searching for the way**

**I'm just a dreamer, dreaming my life away** ♫

 

_ **Sin 3: Turned By ‘The Tainted Ones’** _

Buried in the cool, but warm arms of a snoring Tony, Stephen drifted off to sleep. The world around him dissolved back into the familiar dream world he had grew to favour. No nightmares would come that night, no unusual dreams. A relief to a tired and frustrated mind. With a blink he looked down at his dreamlike self and gave a small smile. The red and gold cloak had returned, the yellow and black spotted gloves, the tunic and sash. A sorcerer type outfit he really wish he could recreate in his own reality. Fabrics though were not in his favour.

Eyes gazing out past the eerie white mist that kept low to the ground he spotted yet another familiar site. White heeled boots, a variation of pink leotards and tights with outstanding white hair sitting on the bench at the side of the cobblestone road. Stephen at once walked over, fingers dancing over the gold fabric of his cloak. As if sensing his ghost like presence, Clea looked towards him with a small smile.

“Doctor Strange…” Her soft voiced chimed. “It’s good to see you again.”

She spoke. Well that wasn’t uncommon, but she rarely spoke in their dreams. She patted the seat beside her, motioning to join him. The sorcerer accepted and looked up towards the bare branches that hung over them like skeleton hands. This seemed so much like Sleepy Hollow at times. His mind was a really strange thing at best.

“It’s good to see you to my Sorceress…” He spoke, feeling his upmost respect when he was around her. Even bowing his head slightly.

The sorceress scrunched up her face at the comment. “I told you about that Stephen, please it’s just Clea. I don’t want to sound like the Ancient One…I’d rather feel much younger than all my years. Plus, I’ve barely taught you a thing.”

He fiddled with his cloak still and decided to change the subject quite quickly. “So you saw what happened or should I say you know what happened?” The sorcerer asked, unsure if her wondering spirit applied to human terms at all.

She softly nodded and narrowed her eyes slightly. “As long as you and the spirit are fine. With all do respect Stephen, nobody else would have taken a confrontation to a next level like you did. Most would have talked but you did something else…”

“What? Clea, they had a gun aimed at us both. What the Hell was I supposed to do…?” The sorcerer suddenly became defensive, believing what he did had been right. The only way.

“There are other spells that would have been more useful for your disposal, but of course I’m sure you knew that…” She rose a brow at him seriously.

Stephen went silent and looked at the ground. “Of course…” He spoke almost in a whisper. So maybe bits had been wrong, but the power had been running his mind like a drug and look where it had gotten them. A pale hand slid over his and gave a confronting squeeze. He weakly squeezed the sorceress’ hand back, not wanting to let go. She was the only hope he had in himself to continue.

“I know it is a lot to take in, I know its a pain and learning on the job, but I’m only giving you advice you need. No more mistakes from me love.” Clea spoke as if she held a deep regret and only Stephen could know what she meant.

They both sat there for a moment in silence, a breeze slightly ruffling their hair. How could a dream feel so real? House so much detail? What if his dreams were really planes of existence she brought him to? With Clea he didn’t expect anything less. Firstly she could contact him from beyond death itself which was impossible. Her magic was really something else. So many questions he housed for her and yet he never had enough time to ask her them. Maybe now was a time to try some. Lighten the load.

“Why me Clea? You could have chosen anyone and yet you chose the guy you had a crush on? What I can read of your diary I understood that much…” Stephen still felt weird being able to read through her personal books, but she had granted and insisted he do so. Spells and notes lay scrolled, history and warnings flourished. Some remained hidden, but she was roughly honest and free.

“Stupid human emotions right? Oh it truely meant nothing Stephen. Just memorised by the handsome famous surgeon on TV and in the books. You did amazing things, you wowed the world. You saved lives. I saw something in you that is hard to describe…” She pushed her white locks behind her ears, before ice blue eyes looked at him. “You house something Stephen. Maybe you could save the dead just as much as the living. Doctors and death go together if you look at it. I just didn’t account for the damage to your hands that ended my theory…”

Stephen pulled his cloak tightly around him, hands tucked underneath. He housed a self-consciousness for his trembling hands. People staring as if he had some disease, the pondering looks as if he was on drugs, the silent thoughts if he was a nervous wreck. But nobody seemed to focus on the ugly scars, on the lines that ran up his hands from countless operations. Nobody saw the shattered bones stuck together or felt the pain that was skin deep.

Clea gave a soft sigh. “I know you miss being a doctor. I know the pain you’re in is cruel, but you’re the strongest person I’ve met. I believe my choice was correct. You weren’t a mistake Stephen, you were a blessing…”

Her words warmed him. He still felt like a complete outsider to the world of Soul Guiders, but apparently he was more. He was on peoples tongues, on minds even if it was for all the wrong reasons. That’s how it was for a celebrity and that usually worked.

With one question asked he decided to ask another. “Why didn’t you choose Mordo?” He said the name flatly. Another person in the world that didn’t think too much of him. Last encounter Stephen had barely managed to scrape by at a nasty mystic duel.

The beauty and warmth in Clea seemed to turn ugly and cold at the mention of his name. Ever so swiftly she leapt up and crossed her arms as if she was cold, heels clicking on the cobblestones beneath. Stephen jumped up and followed her slow walk, cloak fanning out behind. He’d struck a very sensitive topic by the looks, one that she didn’t seem too happy to speak of. Stephen couldn’t help be curious from what he’d read. He’d gathered enough. That the two were married by Dormammu’s terms and Mordo was supposed to be the Soul Guider to which Clea would pass on her art to. All of that idea had completely fallen apart causing some very ugly issues. Clea’s diary really held the most shocking and sometimes scary pieces of history. It fascinated Stephen.

“He wasn’t the man I thought he was Stephen…” A bitter and hurt tone wrapped each word that passed her lips, eyes darkening to a cold glare of ice. “He wasn’t the man I would have chosen, but uncle knows best right for the princess?”

“You’re a princess? Dormammu is your uncle? How on Earth? He’s all black and dark and burning head…” Now Stephen had 80 more questions to ask.

“Dark magic is a twisted thing Stephen. Dark magic and power, cruelty and rage.” Her gaze drifted off into the dark field beyond them. “It can twist and morph anyone it touches. A venom of the mind, a poison in the blood, a disease to the heart. You dig into powerful spells that take bits of you inside. You ask for curses, you make dangerous deals. Why do you think Dormammu lays with the dead and the shadows? That’s where people can bargain their lives with him, as you know too well love…”

Stephen refused to ponder on those words, refused to get dragged back into a past that upset him truely. Oh how he knew so much. “Go on dear…”

Knowing his distaste she continued. As she spoke she softly kneeled down to pluck a few colourful flowers out of a well kept garden. “Dormammu gained an obsession for magic when I was kissed by a Soul Guider he knew. You must have read about the Ancient One. It may have happened so long ago, but I remember it as though it was yesterday…” She slipped a flower in her hair, before she stood up and smelt those in her hands. Roses, poppies, a bunch of colours. “Uncle was so happy the princess had been gifted with a powerful curse, regardless of the fact it made my days a nightmare. Again uncle only thought about himself.” She spat the last few words. “Dormammu also knew another guy, well rich, talented, eyes for me. Oh uncle favoured him hugely. The deal was set that I was to train him and if so die, pass on the curse to Mordo which is simply why he was arranged to marry me. No love held us Stephen, only a sick deal between two men.”

Stephen shifted, uncomfortable with her story. No love or faith seemed to have been shown to the poor woman, only a benefit and gain. Married for the sake of a curse. That was no woman’s dream and Clea being as adoring as she was, he could only imagine her struggle. He gave a small sigh as Clea handed him a rose which he nervously smelt. The sweetest aroma filled his senses. He kept it to his chest and remained silent.

“Ancient One was one of the rare Soul Guiders into the mystics, driven by his religious beliefs to the Vishanti. Dormammu followed, but his magic was…tainted. Dark magic was all he wanted to learn and Mordo followed in his line. A way of impressing him I guess. As I watched my uncle deteriorate and become sick with power and disgust, I could see the same fate could happen to Mordo. I decided I did not want that. I couldn’t let a dark magic user into the circle, at least as ones as twisted as them. So I ran and ran as far as I could. A princess fleeing all she had known. Leaving the cruelty of her uncle and the chains of Mordo. Obviously death followed a many years later and I saw you as the only potential. You weren’t Mordo. They said you could be quite cold and clinical, I suspected you’d be able to hold up the strain without much training. Unfortunately looks can deceive and I’m still truely sorry.”

Her words still stinging him like pricks he walked over to her and hugged her tightly, hand holding her head to his chest. He rested his chin on her cool head as she hugged him back tightly. The mystic pair held onto each other for God knows how long, listening to the owls hooting, the crickets chirping and the distant barks. Just having each other, two who understood could bring a soothing to the pain. Stephen wasn’t angry with Clea. He had been and eventually he’d just stopped. Now hearing more of her story it left him frustrated. Was he really any better than Mordo?

“That’s brave of you Clea… You did the right thing, even if it meant leaving everything you knew…” Stephen spoke to the quite woman.

“And yet I question it so much. To even learn mystics they call us ‘The Tainted Ones’ but thats besides the point.” She pulled herself out of Stephen’s grasp and ran her fingers through her hair. “I was once a Sorceress Supreme of Souls and now that title shall be yours in given time.”

“A Sorcerer Supreme? What is that?” Stephen blinked blankly.

“Oh Hoggoth you haven’t read the Book of the Vis—“ Clea trailed off as she squinted her eyes. Her gaze looked around as if she heard something.

“Clea? You’re not making any sense…” The sorcerer said picking up on the woman’s erratic behaviour.

“I— Not time yet— Oh Stephen you have to wake up now!” She was now right in front of him, face inches from his. “Wake up. Tony’s calling for you…”

The sorcerer was alert at the mention of that. “You know I can’t wake myself up. If theres a skill to that I would love to learn sometime.”

A glowing of gold began to surround Clea’s hands as she aimed them at Stephen. Until he learnt how to wake himself up from a dream, this was the only way he could return to the land of reality. It wasn’t at all his favourite thing. With a flick of her fingers, a burst of gold shot from her hands and struck Stephen square in the chest. He fell back and fell through the ground itself into a land of the black.

“I HATE THIS PART!” He screamed as he could feel himself falling into a void of nothing. Why couldn’t it be as easy as coming here?

“I’M SORRY STEPHEN!” The distant voice of Clea’s could be heard.

She was always sorry and yet he could not hate the woman who guarded his life from beyond.


	9. The Followers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

♫ **That's the beauty of a secret**

**You know you're supposed to keep it**

**But I don't have to fucking tell you anything, anything** ♫

 

Stephen woke up with a loud scream, the falling feeling running through his body still. Lightly gasping in oxygen he tiredly looked over to Tony who was staring out the window, pulling on his last bit of clothing. Something outside seemed to have him transfixed, his fingers nervously wiggling at his sides. He almost looked like a cat watching a bird through the window. Spirits housed such weird mannerisms. This one in particular seemed to get very anxious when mystic related things were near or Soul Guiders.

The sorcerer smothered a yawn before speaking. “What are the means of waking me up from a perfectly good sleep Tony?” Carelessly he stretched, a small tense groan escaping his lips. So his muscles decided to hate him that day. That wasn’t surprising.

“Theres people out there. Two. A woman and a man. They are just standing on the street.” Tony’s face pressed closer to the window. Paranoid spirits were the dreaded worse. “Looking at the door. Giving off this weird vibe…”

Well he didn’t sense anything. “Fascinating Tony. Fascinating people are on a sidewalk…” The sorcerer mumbled sarcastically as he pulled the sheets up to his chin and turned his back to him. “Now I’m going back to sleep. I think you strained a muscle in my side by the way…”

For the moment Stephen closed his tired blue eyes, trying to get a second nap. Dreams left him very exhausted as if he was living them. In his luck he heard the sound of their doorbell ring. Eyes cracked back open as the sorcerer stared at the wall facing him, feeling his tension return almost at once. So it was going to be one of those days. Maybe just ignore it and it will go away. He quickly closed his eyes once again. Sure enough another series of rings were heard.

_Why do we even have a doorbell?_

Still battling the exhaustion he was holding, he scrambled out of the sheets, throwing on the pieces of clothing scattered on the floor. The wounds from past nights were now lucky grey bruises over his pale skin. In one way they matched the black bags darkening under his eyes and the new, more smaller bite marks.

_Tony…_

He looked around for that spirit as he pulled on his pants, falling back onto the bed in the process. Very much one of those days. As long as nobody saw him looking like an over-turned turtle it was fine. A quick run into the bathroom to wash up, before he headed down the stairs making sure not to break his neck. If only healing spells were second nature.

Sure enough on ground floor the spirit was sitting in a chair, glaring at the door hard like a guard dog. World’s most pathetic guard dog no doubt. Scratch his belly and he would roll over.

With a smaller pull of the scarf around his neck, he stood in front of the door, hand hesitating over the doorknob. Theres no way they could have found them. But the way Tony was staring, tensed to the point of bolting, he couldn’t help make him think of a ‘What if?’. At least five spells sprung to his mind at that moment, readying themselves for any assault that could follow. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“DING DING DING” came more doorbell rings. These people really wanted in and seemed to have no will of leaving anytime soon. He took a breath and slowly opened the door wide in front of him, enough for Tony to see the strangers to. Staring back at them was indeed a woman and man. The young woman clung onto her satchel tightly, brown eyes glowing from behind black rimmed glasses. The man beside her simply had his arms crossed in what looked like a monk’s cloak, complete with hood. One Hell of an unlikely duo.

“If you’re trying to sell me a condo in Tibet I am not at all interested.” Stephen spoke flatly with a just as bored expression. “You know what? I really hate door to door salesman at 7 am. I haven’t even had my breakfast.”

A few moments of complete silence was followed. Awkward silence. Somehow though Stephen could see their thoughts were reeling. The young woman was the first to pipe up, slightly pulling her beanie down over her ears.

“This can’t be him…” The woman said with a near disbelieved look behind her glasses. “The guy she couldn’t shut up about?”

“Believe it…it is him…” The man replied with a unamused look that didn’t even shift. “Clea’s pride and joy.”

Oh what had that meant? “Excuse you?” Stephen snorted, already feeling insulted by these complete strangers.

“Excuse us…” The man without another word spoke, simply pushing Stephen aside and entering. The young woman cautiously followed right behind him, eyes constantly on the move.

“Now…” Stephen began, feeling a moment of bewilderment hit him at that action. Nobody just entered your home without a welcome. They were already overstepping the line. A dozen lines at that.

_Who the Hell do they think they are?_

Both strangers cast a gaze at Tony who stared back. His expression wasn’t as nervous as it had been. He looked relatively curious instead, yet Stephen had seen their look. They wren’t looking through him at all. They were looking straight at him. It seemed these strangers could see more than just the living. Now this could be very bad.

There was no way he was letting them get away with this. The sorcerer puffed out his cheeks. “Now, now you don’t just barge into /my/ house…”

“Would you rather have the innocent out there hear what we have to say?” Spoke the man as he motioned to the still open door as easily as if he already knew this place. “What we have to say is better behind closed doors.”

“Still. A ‘would we be allowed to come in’ would have been helpful.” Stephen replied, his eyes scanning both people hard. He could just read people by their posture and tone. These two were really good at hiding their true intentions however.

The man couldn’t help give the grimmest remnants of a smile “You wouldn’t have said that Doctor Strange.”

The spirit and sorcerer were now shocked at that. Someone knew his name. “How did you—“ Stephen was about to question before he cut himself off. He’d seen him of TV or in a paper right?

Even in awe his attention fell onto Tony who was staring at the young woman. She herself was staring back. No words were exchanged at first. Nothing in her image screamed she was a threat, but Stephen could never be too sure.

“I didn’t think it was possible.” She said with a smirk as Tony slid off the couch. “Nothing unlike I’ve ever read in the books. A spirit on Earth in a near humanish state. Not all shadowy and dark.” She slightly rearranged her glasses. “The soul to a Spirit Guider. Are you truely a solid spirit to those who see you?”

“See for yourself ma’am.” Tony replied as he put out a hand to her. Right now no fear at all blessed him, not even as the woman’s hand touched his. A shiver ran through her as his cold skin touched hers.

“Fascinating.” Her brown eyes were glowing in amazement as she pulled her hand away.

“And for the record I’m technically more then that.” He wavered a finger in Stephen’s direction. “Soul, protector, bodyguard and boyfriend.”

The two strangers looked at each other before at the sorcerer. An ounce of judgement, mixed with confusion and unsurity. He had expected that. He also didn’t quite know who of Earth these people could be. Anyone hunting him down would be giving him his rights right now. These two hadn’t made one move at him.

Stephen gave a sigh at the spirit. “Yeah…and that. But anyway, before that. What is all this? What is going on? Give me a bone here!”

The man stood forward and gave Stephen a short nod. “As you wish. I am Wong and this here is Zelma.” He motioned to the woman beside him. “We have been looking everywhere for you. You do keep so well hidden, it was frustrating at first.” With that he pulled off his hood. Why had Stephen been expecting more than a bald headed guy and his duo?

“But after yesterday’s event we found ourselves finally on the right path.” Zelma piped in, hands on her hips. “Your spells to mask your aura are quite powerful.”

“How do you know about that…?” The sorcerer looked alarmed. “I created an illusion to avoid that exact problem.”

“We’ve been trained in the mystics. We can roughly tell an illusion spell of that magnitude.” The woman continued. “Especially when you can see things you aren’t meant to see.”

This conversation was still getting nowhere. All he understood was these two were something else completely. “Okay… but just who are you?”

“We are the assistant and apprentice to Madame Clea, or should we say was. Ever since her death we have been seeking for that of who she passed on her gift to. We followed lost trails, obstacles and all before realising that someone was in her very home city.” The man name Wong replied.

“You knew Clea….?” Stephen now spoke in curiosity. People that actually knew Clea and a apprentice and assistant at that.

The woman gave a sad smile. “It’s quite the talk.”

“Why go all this way to find me though?” Still it wasn’t making sense. There were other Soul Guiders out there in the world, probably mystic ones to.

Wong took in a small breath as he looked at Stephen sharply. A serious man. It made Stephen wonder if he even smiled. “We are both loyal to only the Sorcerer/Sorceress Supreme, and we think you might be just the next one Doctor Strange.”


	10. A Mystic Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

♫ **Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard**

**Their shadows searching in the night**

**Streetlights people, living just to find emotion**

**Hiding, somewhere in the night** ♫

 

“Oh Hell no not this again.” Stephen snorted as he spoke, agitation laced in his voice. “What in the Hosts of Hoggoth is a damn Sorcerer Supreme? That is all I’ve been hearing lately. I can possibly gather from the title, but I’d rather go fish.”

By now the two visitors had settled down onto one of the couches. Before any sort of tea agreement was going to be asked, Stephen wanted a clear answer. It seemed these two knew a lot, especially if they knew Clea. The question was squarely if they would talk. He didn’t want to force things out of people, but so many ties had been left unwinded. He needed this.

“One who is titled as a Sorcerer or Sorceress Supreme of the Souls is at the highest regards of anyone.” Wong spoke emotionlessly as Zelma pulled out a thermal and proceeded to pour a tea. “Not only do you protect the souls of this Earth you go beyond this world. You cater to the safety of souls in an entire dimension.” He briefly thanked the woman who handed him the cup of tea. “You cater to all the souls still in your area, but shall souls struggle to cross, should they be at threat, should they stray from passing over, that is the responsibility a Sorcerer Supreme holds. It is no easy task and only the chosen few are gifted with it, only the few mystics.” With the end of that he sipped his tea.

Stephen just blinked. He’d heard everything Wong had spoken and yet his brain was struggling to comprehend with it. A responsibility of every soul in the entire dimension? Not just New York. No, this had to be some kind of joke. The sorcerer knew he could barely handle New York, but a dimension? Other planets and galaxies. A stirring began to fill the man’s stomach.

“Oh, well that job sounds terrible.” The sorcerer began to laugh insanely. “I mean, who in their right mind would chose a job like that?”

“Madame Clea had no choice but to take on an exact job like that Doctor Strange.” There was a slight edge to Wong’s tone as if Stephen’s words had insulted him. “And if all leads point to, she has passed that title onto you…”

A draining of blood from Stephen’s face so suddenly made him stumble back. No, there was no way she could have given him that title. He was nothing special, at least not worth a dimension protecting scale. He’d done so many wrongs and this sounded like the job for a perfect slate clean guy. There had to be a mistake.

“I doubt that.” Stephen remarked. “Look at me. Look at the soul I keep company of. Theres no way she’s given this title to me. She’d have to be insane!”

_Or just damn Clea._

With a brief moment Zelma was on her feet and put out her hand. “Give me your wrist Doc. Theres a simple way to see if she chose you.”

He made a sound as he hesitantly pulled up his sleeve “What you going to do? Read my palm? Do blood magi— Hey easy with the grip there darling. You must be a plea—Okay sorry…”

So softly her fingers ran up Stephen’s veins as she softly spoke a series of words. At once an image began to appear, like that of a tattoo. “Ah, that’s what I thought…the symbol of the Vishanti.” She titled her head as Stephen and Tony eyed up the image. A circle filled with lines at certain angles and curves, an image Stephen had once seen before in a book of Clea’s.

“You are more to this world than a simple Sorcerer Stephen Strange, you are the next Sorcerer Supreme of the Souls. Congratulations Master.” Came Wong’s voice, a slight bit perkier.

“M-Mas—OH HELL NO!” Stephen raised his voice, looking stunned. “I did not agree to this. That is not at all fair. Did anyone ask if I wanted this? There is no way I can take on a job of this magnitude. You are all fucken bonkers! Being a Soul Guider was enough of a mess up, but this?”

Three sets of eyes were staring at him, three sets that weren’t shifting anytime soon. Two already were believing he was the chosen one and well Tony? Any sort of acknowledgment given to him the spirit supported. He was in a lose-lose situation. It was so ridiculous. What toll would this have on him? He only knew there would be some price. Clea couldn’t have stressed that to him enough, even in her books. The more you put yourself into it, the higher the cost.

“I can’t…This is so much all at once. What do I do? How do I do it?” Stephen croaked, suddenly feeling more exposed then normal. “What if I can’t do it…?” His breath was becoming hitched as he rubbed his arms, not out of cold, but worry.

“You will not be alone in this Doc. Clea made sure of that.” Spoke Zelma as Wong stood up and gave Stephen’s shoulder a slight pat.

Stephen looked towards the smaller man, trying to fight the panic in his eyes. “I will make us some tea. I know exactly how to make it. Calm your nerves, relax your mind.”

“Oh man, you’re speaking in spiritual tongue. I think I need a Vodka. Oh Vishanti this is not okay…” Stephen was croaking to himself, as Wong’s hand was replaced with Tony’s. He tiredly rested his forehead on the spirit’s shoulder who offered him a big hug. Most times the spirit’s actions were more comforting than his words. Oh did his head hurt so much.

“You’ll be fine Doc.” The seeming so confident Zelma said, as Stephen peeked a glance over Tony’s shoulder at her. “Clea wouldn’t have picked you if she thought you’d flop.”

“Mm and who are you again?” The sorcerer grumbled, slipping away and sitting next to her. “You have a strange aura…”

“Ah, punny are we?” She joked. “No, I was Clea’s apprentice. Well still very new and green. She eyed me a few odd months ago when I was a new Soul Guider, in training.” She tilted her head slightly. “When I was terrified, petrified of what I’d become. People wondered how I survived the car crash, but the driver died so tragically. They wouldn’t believe me if I said a kiss saved my life somehow. A sweet woman took me on under her wing. Like a white queen, oh Clea. I guess she wanted a big legacy after her, or maybe she knew the next guy would need some support.”

“Zelda…” Stephen spoke before she quickly corrected him. “Sorry, Zelma. She was teaching you huh? Please don’t tell me I have to do that?”

“Well, yeah. I’m your apprentice now! Hi!” She grinned, looking almost thrilled.

“Look, I’m just learning myself. Theres no way I can teach you…” Now the sorcerer looked even more alarmed. And a teacher?

_Oh Clea. Why oh why?_

The woman put out her hands, motioning him to relax. “There is no rush on my learning Doc. First we have to get you up to speed.”

At once a smell of tea drifted into the room, bringing with it Wong. He held a tray in front of him, three steaming cups of tea. Eager hands took a cup, Stephen nervously sipping at his. The warm liquid only touched his lips, a soft smell slipping into his senses. At once the tension began to unravel slowly. The taste of tea so delicious, so perfectly made. Fit for a sorcerer no doubt.

“This is amazing.” Stephen spoke, eyes seeming a bit more lively.

“Thank you.” Wong said with a nod. “My family and I have made teas and dinners for many Sorcerer Supreme’s. After a while you know what works well.”

Stephen rested his cup against his chest slightly. “So you are no stranger to this job?”

Wong scoffed. “Course not. Many have stood where you are. Many times I have seen titles fall for many reasons. However I swore an oath to serve the supreme mystic, just as my father and his father before. You are a hidden breed. Trying to find you is complicated enough.”

The sorcerer looked down and watched the tea. He frowned slightly as if in lighter swirls he could see something, something more, something else. Something he shouldn’t be able to see.

“You’re more, so much more to this world Stephen.” He heard Tony speak from across the room. “The souls, we need you…”

Dark eyes looked at the two who sat on the couch, all he gave them was a slight nod.

“How about you tell us your story?” Zelma asked softly. “Are the rumours true? Did you really battle Dormammu and survive? What about the spirit? You’re beyond famous in this world Doc.”

At once Stephen and Zelma’s eyes shot out the window. The air around them seemed to grow colder, a prickling running in their veins. A calling, pulling at their own soul. The familiar custom they had grown to. It meant a soul was ready, ready to pass on into a world beyond.

Saved by the bell so to speak. Stephen gave a small sigh and retched for his trench coat over the couch. “Come along you lot.” He was not agreeing to this, but if he so should, they should see what he does and how he does it.


	11. The Toll of Caring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Reuploaded thanks to chapters being deleted and drafted for god knows what reason.]

♫ **Where is my mind**

**Where is my mind**

**Way out in the water**

**See it swimmin'** ♫

 

Till this day rarely was there a day in which a funeral had a sunny setting. On the days that it was sunny people seemed to also dress a little bit brighter. On grim days it seemed almost too quite. Birds would cease, cars seemed so distant, even breaths seemed halted. Stephen put that down to those who celebrated lives. Celebrated their living vs those who mourned. Though this was another grim tale. The rain was bucketing down now. The grass below their shoes a sludgy mush. Standing under the tree, all together was the sorcerer and his entourage. His blue eyed gaze, stared out at the scene from under his hat which dripped streams. Tony, Zelma and Wong held back, all dressed in their own black outfits so quiet and still.

There was a screaming from a pregnant woman as she clung to the casket, not willing to let go of her falling lover. His ghost towered beside his casket, face full of his own pain. The desperation of not being able to comfort and hold his lover was all in his features. Thats all spirits wanted as a last wish. One last touch, one last kiss, one last goodbye. The widow fell to her knees, mud spluttering her black dress, mascara running in streams. Stephen swallowed hard, shifting nervously. One time he would have reacted the same way as her. The one time that burnt so badly in his head.

_TONY! TONY! YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME. HOLD ON!!!_ His screams with sirens echoed in his head from a past time, a distant memory that still hurt his heart till this day.

Slowly the crowd dispersed as the mourners left. The last was his wife and sister. Their blank stares were staring right at him, right through him. Could they sense his presence? Could they see something others couldn’t. With that they slowly walked away, heads down, life broken into painful shards that might never heal.

Stephen looked up and strolled over with Tony once the coast was clear. Both spirits stared at each other before beginning a talk as Stephen’s fingers and lips began to work their magic. Zelma watched close by curiously, as the golden orb of light began to glow in the sorcerer’s hand. He took a step back, watching it hover before looking to the new spirit. “Your eternity awaits you Cameron.”

Nervously the spirit walked towards it, the light beaconing and calling him. Hand out the spirit walked into the orb as it absorbed him. With a small whine Tony put his own hand out to the light, his fingers gazing the warmth. Finally feeling such warmth after such a long time.

“Tony…” Stephen said quietly as the light began to shudder, black smoky cracks running and weaving through the gold light.

“Wha…” Zelma mumbled, eyes huge behind her glasses.

The gold light shattered, black smoke falling over Tony’s hand, disappearing before it hit the ground. The distraught was masking Tony’s expression as his only chance at peace and harmony died away in front of him.

“Tony’s a restless soul stuck on Earth.” Stephen cooly spoke, keeping emotion out of his voice, staying professional in front of the new eyes. “He can never cross over, condemned to roam Earth for eternity. Portals like this cannot work for his damned soul. They wither and die as if he’s death itself…”

The spirit set is eyes low, hating to hear about the curse he and many spirits were dealt with. It was truely the one thing that strained their relationship above anything else. Tony’s choice and Stephen’s decision. A team effort that ended in pain and agony for both. As the rain grew heavier Stephen suggested to the group to head off. Yes, exhausted already the sorcerer was. He swore he could feel the shadows nudging at the corners of his mind. Begging him to let them take over. Right now, he was in the mood to grant them their ghastly wish.

As Zelma drove them back to the homestead, Stephen sat in the back, gazing intensely out the back. His cold blue eyes were lost in their own world. The world around him ceased to exist, because right now he was back in the nightmare of his own past.

**8 Months Before:**

It’s a smile that can bring a warmth to your heart. It’s a touching of hands that can make you feel like you are part of the world. It’s a kiss that can make you feel what you hide. And for a moment or two in time, everything begins to feel so perfect. It takes a special someone to make a cold and hidden person show any sort of emotion, any feeling at all. And maybe that is what the man sees in the other. Something he can’t let go of, because he makes him feel human. He makes him feel something. Love, feeling, emotion.

“Come on Tony. At this rate we will be late…” Stephen murmured as he stood out in the cold snow. A blue scarf was wrapped around the man’s neck, black gloves and a big hat. In fact along with the trench coat and boots, it was hard to almost see the tall man behind the warmth. “I told you we should have got here early. Parking is shocking and while we still are walking the New Year will be welcomed in…”

“Relax Doc, the old year is still young.” With a slam of the door, Tony emerged dressed in a bulky coat and hoodie. Beanie pulled over his ears, he gave a small grin to Stephen as he threw up his keys and caught them. “I feel so underdressed right now.”

Stephen huffed and grumbled as Tony walked past him in the lead, chuckling. A laugh that could melt Stephen’s own heart, even when he was furious at the tech genius.

They had both met under bizarre circumstances. Stephen had been a simple bender fender, Tony had been the local mechanic. Stephen occasionally coming around to check on the progress of his damage ride. Most times he’d sworn the handsome mechanic had eyes for him more than the car he should have been fixing. But who was Stephen to deny the man with grease smudged face attention. More talking than work it seemed every time. It started out as a simple friendly exchange of rants and life raves. A few drinks every Friday after work and maybe a drunken dare to give a kiss. The night burnt into both their minds like a brand. The first and last time of pure bliss maybe.

Eventually both men exchanged their other secrets. Tony, an inventor and robotic nut on the side, Stephen with his unusual ability to talk to the dead and magic.

The crowd for around the square was a mess of loud chatter, music and bundled up bodies. Families, lovers, teenagers and tourists were packed into the small area. Stephen hated the crowds as Tony grabbed his hand and dragged him through the tight gaps. Height was on their side as they squeezed and slammed into people. A claustrophobic person would probably be screaming.

The square was lit up like a Christmas scene. The layers of snow shoes sunk into, clumps clinging onto buildings and snowballs flying. It was so bitterly cold so close to midnight, but still everyone wanted this night. The New Year was going to bring promise.

“Its beautiful isn’t it Stephen?” Tony spoke, his breath hitting the chill area with steam, his cheeks pink in the light around them.

A loud grunt came from Stephen, as Tony pulled him to a tight spot close to the events and entertainment. He didn’t need to answer Tony on that one. He didn’t enjoy this stuff.

A familiar arm wrapped around Stephen’s waist and pulled him closer. Tony was very openly loving, in fact he was in generally a very open man about many things. Stephen on the other had was low-key as they come. His face burned a little redder, paranoid eyes already looking around him to who might be spying.

“You a bit grumpy today huh? Gotta fix that.” At once Tony’s rough hands grabbed Stephen’s face and graced his lips with a deep passionate kiss.

Stephen was frozen. He knew people were looking. Peoples eyes judging, disgusted, curious burning into his skin like fire. “People. Looking—“ He mumbled into Tony’s kiss. But oh did it feel so good, good enough Stephen instantly kissed back.

“Its 2017 Stephen, let them look.” With that Tony pulled away, his own blue eyes glowing in pure joy and love.

If Stephen had known that was the last time he’d ever have a warm and beautiful kiss like that, he may have never listened to Tony’s next request. He would have never let that man go.

“Get us some hotdogs will you huh? Or magic some up. Its a bit of a walk but you’ll smell me out again.” Tony chuckled, pulling the jacket hood over his head.

“I’m not a messenger.” Stephen grumbled, feeling a little yes grumpy after the kiss. He could not let Tony know that. “And of course. You haven’t showered today. Late from work. You’re still sweaty and greasy.” And yet a smell the doctor had found comfort and love in.

_A_ nd that was the last time Stephen heard the deep laugh, saw life in those blue eyes and felt truely happy inside.


	12. Take My Heart, Take My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between two worlds of the living and the dead, one man is gifted with a simple responsibility; to help the souls crossover to the other world. But with past regrets, bargains and sins, danger is a constant threat. Can this learning sorcerer become something more? Can he become more then the famous Sorcerer of Souls?

♫ **Wake me up**

**Won't you wake me up?**

**Caught in a bad dream**

**Caught in a bad dream** ♫

 

Stephen jumped as the car came to a halt, breaking him out of his thoughts. He gave a doozy look around, reality hitting him that he was in fact home. While everyone piled out of the car, Stephen took his time. A sickening feeling settled in his stomach just thinking about the past. What had happened, but one day he knew he’d have to come to terms with such.

Once inside they ridded of their wet jackets and settled down at the table with tea hot enough to burn away nightmares. Stephen’s thumb traced the teacup rim as Zelma and Wong sat across from him in silence. Tony disappeared upstairs doing whatever ghosts did. Maybe inventing even.

“So how…How did Tony become like that? I mean…he’s different from most ghosts right?” The young woman questioned, lips pressed suddenly firmly against her teacup.

Stephen sighed softly. “Death obviously Zelma, but it is sure as hell is a day I won’t ever forget…”

 

**_8 Months Before:_ **

The line was long, full of impatient people. At this rate the New Year would be welcomed in in-front of a hotdog truck and that was not at all Stephen’s want. The green sorcerer crossed his arms, foot tapping, watching the bits of snow fall. And possibly a coming blizzard to jinx it to. If nothing ever went his own way. Slowly a breeze began to pick up out of nowhere. A harsher, chilly breeze that kissed his cheeks with a bitter bite. On the corner of his eye he thought he spotted something moving. Blue eyes cast he saw the breeze was causing a small whirlwind of snow not far away. He looked around to see if anyone else had spotted it. Apparently it was all just him. Was that a magic in the air? Most probably.

“St-ep-he-n” He heard a broken whistling on the breeze, calling to him.

His scarf at once caught onto the breeze and dangled in the direction of the whirlwind snow. Now that couldn’t just be coincidence that he was being motioned. He would not enjoy this one bit. So much for ‘normal’. Against his better judgment he strolled towards the snow, grumbling as he lost his place in the increasing long line. Hotdogs weren’t on the menu then. Stuffing his hands in his coat he snorted as the twirling snow drifted off, further from the crowd. With that Stephen still felt complied to follow it and as he did the voice grew, began to get clearer.

A whistling coo. “Steeeepheeeen.”

It led him metres away from the line, down a small no end alley. At once a face of a woman began to emerge in the twirling snow. Snow as flowing white hair, shimmering flakes as eyes. That familiar face. The face of Clea.

“Really? Here? Now? No way…” Stephen growled, throwing up his hands. “I want to be left alone…I’m off duty today…”

“Listen to me Stephen…” Her voice sounded desperate, almost cutting over him. “You and everyone are in danger. You’ve been ignoring my calls all day!”

Stephen snapped back at her. “I have a life Clea. What life I can regain from this shitfall. What could possibly be so dangerous you’d pull me out of line for hotdogs?”

A somber tone flowed from her. “Theres a bomb here. Right now. It’s already too late Stephen…”

“Wait…a bomb…what…CLEA ANSWER ME!” Stephen’s mood shifted from anger to fear at once. She could not just spring this up on him like this. “WHERE IS IT?”

“You have to protect who you can Stephen, please…GO.” And with that the breeze died away, the snow flaking to the ground.

“NO CLEA DAMMIT DON’T—“ The man shouted, eyes huge in terror. No way would she lie to him. She was more gifted them him in all ways. This was real. This was petrifying.

At once Stephen spun around and bolted back into the crowd. His heart pounded loudly in his ears and chest. He crashed into bodies, had people yelling at him and pushing him away roughly. Where was he running to? What was he doing? What would you do if you had just been told something so shocking?

“THERES A BOMB!!” Stephen began to scream. This was the perfect way to start a panic. Mass hysteria, but maybe it would get people moving. “GET OUT OF HERE. THERE IS A BOMB—“ Almost at once Stephen sensed something. Something in the air. A shifting, something unsettling. Now!

At once Stephen’s hands formed into their spell formations and an incarnation sprung to his lips. Was Clea helping him? How did he know exactly what spell to cast? But right now it didn’t matter. Because that was when the bomb went off. At once Stephen’s hands glowed gold with runes that created a barrier as best he could in front of him. A shield that spread over the crowd of people around him. Unfortunately he knew it hadn’t reached far enough, but it was all he had strength to master up.

The sound of the bomb rocked the ground with a deafening blow. Screams and shrieks were heard all around him, a cacophony of many noises, noises the sorcerer would be haunted with forever. The impact from the bomb hit the barrier full on. The shock of a spell so big and so sudden, something Stephen had never done before caught him off guard. He felt the rough force between the barrier and his trembling hands, almost like a full on ramming. The magic barrier and himself took the entire impact. In strain blood streamed from Stephen’s nose as those behind him and himself were thrown backwards with a hard jolt. The spell breaking as the sorcerer’s strength depleted at once.

And then there was nothing. Barely a sound, silence. After a moment people finally started to get up as a ghostly mist of dust covered the scene. At once there was confusion and mumbles before the screaming, screaming and crying enough to break hearts. Hysteria began to pick up and the only reason Stephen woke up was that of someone trodding on his fingers in attempt to get away. He groaned and opened his eyes, seeing feet running and scrambling, seeing others slowly getting up. The mist made his eyes water while a large headache was starting to form as he sat up, dizzily looking around. The sorcerer wiped his nose, staring at the scarlet red blood staining his hand. That hadn’t felt at all too good. As he forced himself up the scene unraveled to his dismay. Through the settling dust, debris layered the ground. People covered in blood, others only holding minor injuries. Families huddled together amazed they were alive, others screamed for missing members.

“We need a doctor down here!” Came a shout from the bomb-zone.

Stumbling as the sound of the bomb still left him disorientated and slightly deafened, Stephen on impulse scrambled over to the voice. In the end he always would be a doctor of some sort and right now that was needed. “I’m a doctor…well was…”

Right now it didn’t matter who. As long as medical training was a thing. Adrenaline was in gear as he began to help with the wounded. Tearing bits of clothing to make temporary bandages and tourniquet. Telling others what to do. As the first doctor on sight its all they really had. It was a horrible sight. The groaning and screaming of the very injured. A seen of pure bloodshed and stained tears. As he ventured deeper, his own hands bloody, and trembling as the true show of damage came into view. As well as those of dead bodies. This day was going to be very daunting.

And then it struck Stephen like a bag of bricks. A sickening, sinking feeling.

_Tony!_

No, Tony had been around behind the shield area hadn’t he? That was where he’d left Tony. Or was it beyond that? Doubts and fears became to creep into his thoughts as he began to move around the area. Fingers to pulses in hopes. He shook the thought as he finished up and deepened into the horrific destruction.

Sirens were going. Police, ambulance, firefighters all on the scene as people were scrambling around. Stephen’s gaze avoided the ground, passing lifeless bodies flaked in snow and dust. That was when he froze on the spot. Patches of now now held crimson blood, which had not been melted by the blast. As a soft drizzle of snow began to fall Stephen felt his entire world, the fabric of its lining crash into complete nothing.

“TONY!” Stephen shouted as he ran across the scene, spotting a lifeless body nearby, one wearing that familiar hoodie he’d worn a few times. Panic, horror and prayer.

Sliding to a stop beside him Stephen’s trembling hands were already checking Tony’s pulse. It was him, without a doubt. Skin patched and black, clothes torn. Blood ran and drenched Tony’s face, dark red patches stained every part of his clothes. Those blue eyes were clouded over, staring into a complete abyss of nothing.

“No. No, I’m not losing you dammit. Wake up Tony please!” Stephen began to chant an incarnation, his blood covered hands glowing a dim yellow that constantly cut out. Why wasn’t this healing spell working? The one spell he’d struggled so hard with. It wasn’t working! “Listen to me Tony. You’ll… we’ll get you to a hospital. Tony, please. I’m a doctor. Let me help you!”

With each passing moment, the clouding in Tony’s eyes grew stronger, darkening black. The blood gushing from the man’s mouth ceasing its gargling. That sick and weak aura that his body harvested began to fade like ash. He was too far gone. His best friend, his lover, the only one who understood his gift was dead.

A horrible hysterical crying sound finally broke from Stephen as he sat there, holding the lifeless body in his arms, rocking back and forth. The sorcerer pressed his face against Tony’s cool cheek, his choking cries almost laboured and in agony. This had to be a nightmare. Not like this. Why couldn’t he wake up.

“Don’t. Leave. Me. Please.” Stephen breathed out between sobs, his red fingers running against Tony’s chin. “Let me…save you…”

Paramedics and firefighters were frozen, watching the man in complete loss. Others at loss were seated on the ground, their own pain echoed, wearing the blood of their loved ones, clinging onto their bodies. Nothing was said from those watching in silence. Not understanding a thing the distroted were going through.

Stephen was trembling, clinging Tony close to him. He felt sick, he wanted to be sick. His hands still tried. The yellow glow constantly failing as he gripped him closer, hoping for a miracle. The mechanic’s smell still lingered, what warmth he held disappearing. Softly the sorcerer planted a kiss to his blue lips, the taste of Tony’s blood hitting like metallic on the tongue. He didn’t care. He’d just lost the last best thing in his life. The something that taught him to be human.

“I love you Tony. I’m sorry I never said that enough.” Stephen coughed out, his bloodied fingers gently closing Tony’s eyelids before burying his face into his chest.

It wasnt long before the air cooled around Stephen. A cold that not even the snow could get through. A bloodied faced Stephen looked up and froze. A horror was already painted on his face. “Not now. Not here. Please.”

It was a soft begged croak, not aimed at the rescue services, but at the 100 ghosts that stood around him. The ghosts looked battered and bruised, exactly as they had died. A mixture of ages, a mixture of races. Families, lovers, children, all staring back at him with the up most confusion. The tears never ceased down Stephen’s face as he stared at them. His face was in pain, in complete fear.

“I can’t help you…Please go…” His hands gripped tighter around Tony. “Please. Leave. Me…I’m…can’t….”

“We need you Stephen Strange…We need your help…” Their hands retched out towards him, all speaking in unison.

Their voices, their begging, their calling, filled Stephen’s ears. His head was full of screaming. His magic was trying to reach out to them, their voices making his body want to help, making his mind tear. Why couldn’t they leave? He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t help them. He felt like he was dying, like his heart was being torn and stabbed at once. He could barely breathe. He wanted to just be struck down by death with them.

“I CAN’T HELP YOU!” Stephen screamed, his hands now glowing a light blue, gripping harder onto his lovers shoulders. “NOW IS NOT THE FUCKEN TIME!”

A pressure was beginning to build up in his head. A hard pressure through the exhaustion. Was it just them doing it? Were they doing something to him? Or was there something else here that he couldn’t see?

“Oh…this is so weird… Hey Stephen why is my…oh…” Came a familiar voice. A voice that had once brought such bliss happiness. Now a voice that brought the worse agony. Tony’s voice.

“Oh God no. Not this please. Vishanti, don’t do this to me…” Stephen’s voice broke into begging, into pleading. This could not be happening. He refused to turn around as a new wave of hysterics set in. “If you hear me. Please help me. Please, Clea, somebody. Oshtur…Hoggoth…Agamotto…”

At once Stephen felt a cool hand, like a breeze run against his cheek. His blue eyes looked up to see the ghostly form of Tony beside him. All the sorcerer could do was stare, stare in silence. He was barely breathing, barely living right now. His head throbbed, his stomach turned like a furious sea and the trembling never stopped.

“Stephen listen to them…” Tony said, his eyes having difficulty leaving his lifeless body in his lover’s arms. The ghost look terrified. “Did I die? Am I dying? I felt you grab me but…it hurt…”

“NO. YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THERE. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN MY ARMS!” Stephen snapped at his lover’s ghost. “NOT DEAD. GET BACK IN THIS BODY PLEASE!”

Others watched the hysterical man. Screaming at nothing but thin air or so it seemed. Some seemed to believe he’d truely gone mad. Grief and insanity. It was not only the build up in his head now, but a pressure against his body. He could feel magic burning against his arua, his skin. A untrained sorcerer experiencing emotions he couldn’t control. That was mixed in with magic that was still young to him, untamed, wild.

“Help us Doctor please…” Can the next waves of begs, louder and desperate.

Why wouldn’t they leave? They had to leave. He was heaving now. His breathing laboured, trembling at its point. The sorcerer couldn’t fight it. He couldn’t give them what they wanted when everything had been taken from him.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME. I CAN’T DO THIS RIGHT NOW. BEGONE!!” With his scream he felt a violent bolt of magic flow from him like lightning. At once it exploded from him as he screamed his worst. Like a shockwave a dark grey wave of magic surrounded him, sending every spirit flying backwards. It spread around the entire area, hitting every spirit there.

Debris and rubbish was thrown around the scene, a violent breeze blowing through and then there was silence. Stephen looked up panting and looked around quietly. No souls surrounded him, not one. Not even Tony.

But right now Stephen couldn’t have cared less. His mind had failed him. His magic had possibly saved him. But reality lay in his arms and the bodies around him.


End file.
